The Cult
by Shikani
Summary: An ancient cult has regrouped and wants revenge for a betrayal. Oz pitches up in town the night Doyle is kidnapped. Now it's a race against time for Angel and co. to find out what they're dealing with and save Doyle. CHAP 12, nearly over!
1. What A Great Evening

Disclaimer: I do not own Angel or any of its characters. I do own my OCs and the story line but that is it.

Rating: PG13 to be safe. I don't really know how the whole rating system goes so, hey.

Characters: Angel, Doyle, Cordy, Oz, tiny bit of Giles and some OCs.

This story is slightly AU. Oz didn't take the Gem of Amara to LA but he went anyway because he was going anyway and I wanted to have him in the story. I'm not very good at writing romances so I'm not sure if there will be any pairings but I'll see how it goes.

This is my first fic and I haven't seen that many episodes with Doyle in (not that there were many in the first place) so if he is out of character please tell me. R&R please! I need feedback! Constructive flames are appreciated.

* * *

Doyle was bored. It didn't happen too often seeing as he was an envisioned half-demon and associated with a vampire with a soul and Cordelia Chase, both strange beings in their own rights. Still, he thought gloomily as he tossed back another shot of scotch, those few thoughts did nothing to change the fact that he was bored out of his wits. And to cap it all he was starting to brood.

_I'm getting as bad as Angel_, he thought absently as he refilled his glass. The subject of his thoughts was the young aspiring actress who he had met by way of Angel getting shot in the chest and he and Cordy patching him up. He had immediately been struck by her stunning looks and her endearing, if somewhat overwhelming, nature.

The Irishman sighed and leant back in his chair, listening to the band playing on stage to wild cheers from the crowd. They were fairly young group and the lead singer was grinning and winking unashamedly at the giggling girls below him as they smiled flirtatiously up at him. The guitarist was standing slightly further back, smiling slightly at his friend's antics.

Doyle watched wistfully, wishing he could just be like that, carefree and unaware of the troubles around him. He shook his head and downed the fiery liquor in his grasp. 'It just had to be me didn't it?' he muttered. Glancing at his watch, he groaned and stood up, stretching. Cordy did not appreciate it when he came into work looking like he had been hit by several trucks and then stomped on by a large, slimy demon.

He winced in recollection of their last confrontation when Cordelia had threatened to string electrical wires through him and set him up on a podium with a sign around his neck saying 'eat me'. He recalled the expression on her face as she glowered and Angel trying to suppress a grin as Doyle cowered. Sometimes he wondered whom their enemies would run away from first, the vampire or the actress.

Doyle slapped a few dollars on the bar, nodded to the smiling waitress and pushed his way out of the crowded club into the muggy air of the parking lot. Los Angeles was alive with drunken yells and laughs, car horns and angry shouts and the far away sound of smashing glass. Doyle fished his car keys out of his pocket and headed for the spot where his battered vehicle was parked.

Correction: where it _had_ been parked.

"Dammit!" The parking space was empty except for a few pieces of shattered glass and a cigarette stub that was long gone out. He rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Cordy is going to murder me."

It was not as though his car had been of any great value but he really had grown attached to the rickety old thing. Its rattles had spoken volumes; kind of reminded him of his Ma.

The Brachen demon's train of thought was derailed rather abruptly as something smashed into the side of his head, sending him into the back of a zebra striped van. The minuscule fraction of Doyle's brain that was still functioning was yelling at the majority of the organ to get off it's metaphorical backside and do something. This was effectively squashed by a wave of dizziness and pain that swept over his senses as he landed face down on the cold concrete.

The Irishman tensed waited for another blow to fall. It appeared however that no such blow was forthcoming. As he tentatively lifted his head a cigarette landed on the ground just in front of him and a large, black leather boot ground it out with a menacing squishing sound. Doyle was filled with a strong urge to roll his eyes.

It occurred to him that he should probably get up now and his legs reluctantly complied, his head screaming curses at him all the way. Once in a vaguely upright position he looked up at his attackers.

Fangs, yellow teeth, a severe need for wrinkle cream. Doyle swallowed and glanced around him at the five creatures that were surrounding him, smirking arrogantly.

"Er, hey fellas. Nice evening don't you think? I mean I don't, but hey, what do I know?" The lead vampire sniggered.

"Got a funny one here lads. I like funny people, they taste good." Doyle chuckled nervously, "Well, I'm not really a very funny person actually, fairly melancholy disposition me. Sorry to disappoint and all that." The vampires were closing in on the beleaguered half-demon, grinning menacingly.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat but I need to be finding the bugger who stole my car. Lovely talking to you." He wheeled around only to stare into the face of a large female vampire with curly blond hair and a rather robust figure. She growled at him and he took a step back, not just from the vamp's teeth.

"Don't mean to be rude but you really need to get some mouthwash or something. What did you eat?" It occurred to him that that probably wasn't the best topic of conversation to pick as he felt a hand clamp he shoulder in a vicelike grip. The lead vamp wrenched him around. "I don't like it when my food talks back."

Doyle suddenly went demon, punching his assailant in the face as he ducked backwards. "Well I didn't ask you to eat me stink breath." Smashing his elbow into the blond bloodsucker's nose he sprinted away from the two only to run headlong into another vamp dressed in a biker's jacket. He practically bounced off the demon's chest and felt a huge, beefy hand close around his throat, cutting off his windpipe. As his oxygen drained away he reverted back to human form.

The first vamp stalked furiously over to the Irishman, wiping a trail of blood from his nose and licking his fingers. "You do know that's disgusting don't you?" Doyle managed to choke out. He was rewarded with a vicious punch to the ribs as the enraged vampire tore him from the other's grasp and slammed him against the door of the striped van.

I'm really going to enjoy killing you, freak." Doyle closed his eyes as the vampire leaned over him. As he waited for the sharp sting of teeth in his neck his thoughts rushed to Cordelia and a huge wave of regret swept through the Brachen demon at the thought that he had never told her the way he felt about her.

Suddenly the pressure on his neck was released. He gritted his teeth for the killing blow. But instead of the sensation of blood being drained from his body he got a face full of…

Dust?

Doyle gasped in the oxygen he had been deprived of as he, along with the rest of the vampire group gaped at the newcomer. A young man with spiky blond hair was calmly reloading the crossbow he had just fired. Recognition slammed into Doyle as he remembered the band that had been playing in the club. This was the lead guitarist. Doyle felt an insane urge to giggle at the thought.

The teen levelled the weapon at the vamps again as they overcame their shock. Abandoning their first victim they charged at the guitarist with revenge and bloodlust driving them. The first two were dropped by two crossbow bolts as the stranger ducked under the large vamp using his smaller size and speed to evade the huge fist swinging at his head. Doyle shook his head to clear it and lunged at another of the monsters, taking it by surprise and slamming it headfirst into a ticket dispenser with a dull 'thud'.

The large vampire looked around, distracted by the commotion, which gave the spiky haired teen enough time to load a bolt into his crossbow and embed it straight into the bloodsucker's heart. The last vamp stood up, noted the conspicuous lack of allies and fled without a backward glance.

Doyle grimaced and sat down slowly as he waited for his legs to stop feeling like two cylindrical blocks of jelly. Looking up he watched his rescuer retrieve the fallen crossbow bolts, brushing the dust off them. He then moved over to the zebra striped van and, frowning slightly at the dent in the door, opened it, slinging the crossbow inside.

Closing the door he turned and looked at the half demon who was pulling himself up using the crumpled ticket dispenser as a support. Doyle straightened up and glared at the little fuzzy black dots until they went away.

"You okay?"

The Irishman had yet another urge to start giggling insanely at the question. Struggling to keep a straight face he replied, "Well, I've just had my car nicked, been attacked by vampires, smashed into a bloody pulp, saved by a complete stranger and my arse is bloody sodden from sitting on this damn concrete. Oh yeah and I'm also having visions of the future."

To Doyle's surprise the young man merely nodded placidly, eyes still searching the Brachen demon's face. But then he did just dust four vampires with a crossbow without batting an eyelid so…

"Thanks for helping out by the way. You know, saving my life and all."

"No problem." The newcomer was still scrutinising Doyle with slightly suspicious eyes. Doyle shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Seconds stretched and tensions grew until Doyle decided to break it.

"Hey, I know I'm good-looking and all but there's no need to stare."

"What are you?"

The blunt question caught the Irishman completely by surprise and he took a defensive step backwards. "How long were you standing there?" The other shrugged, "Came out, saw the vamps, saw you, shot the vamp." Hastily sorting through the strange teen's monosyllabic answers Doyle realised that he couldn't have seen him in demon form.

Doyle was tired, fed up and had a monster headache coming on, so he decided to be frank. Holding out his hand he said, "I'm Allen Francis Doyle, just Doyle. I'm half Brachen demon on my father's side. Pleased to meet you. How did you know?"

The ghost of a smile appeared on the other's face and he took the proffered hand. "Daniel Osbourne. Call me Oz. Werewolf. You smelled a little… off." Doyle relaxed slightly. "Ah. That explains the whole 'I-know-what-you-are-but-not-quite-so-I-need-you-to-tell-me' right?" Oz nodded, turning back to the club.

"Good to meet you Doyle."

"You too Oz. Thanks again."

Doyle turned back to the parking space only to have his predicament smack him full in the face once again. "Cordy is definitely going to kill me." Sighing, he pulled out his cell phone. "Damn it, Angel's out tonight." One fact that Doyle would become uncomfortably familiar with was that, even in their human forms, werewolves have excellent hearing.

"Would that be Cordelia Chase and Angel as in vamp with a soul?" Doyle wondered if the visions had finally sent him mad as he turned back to the lycanthrope. "Funny that, but yeah. Why?" The werewolf shrugged.

"Old friends. Need a lift?" Doyle briefly considered which would be more dangerous: accepting a lift from a monosyllabic, possibly psychotic werewolf or walking the streets of LA.

"Sure, that would be great."

Oz nodded again and disappeared inside. Doyle blinked and put his phone away. "Well, that was weird." He checked his watch and suppressed a yawn.

Something pricked at his senses and he frowned, turning slightly to look into the darkness of the streets. Nothing stirred. He shook himself, convinced that he was getting far too paranoid.

Oz came back out, his guitar slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag in his hand. Opening the van and chucking his belongings inside the werewolf jumped up into the driver's seat. Doyle collected himself and hopped into the passenger seat, swinging the door closed behind him. Neither of them noticed the crouched figure silhouetted against the night sky, watching the van as it roared away.

* * *

"What happened?"

"A kid showed up and shot the hell out of them."

"Good. We don't want him damaged. This newcomer, is he a threat to us?"

"Nah, just a damn good shot with a crossbow."

"Ensure that he doesn't interfere with our plans."

"But of course. Was there anything else?"

"Fail and you will face the consequences."

"Fine."

* * *

Doyle was fast learning that his strange companion was not the most talkative of people.

"So, how do you know our friendly neighbourhood vampire?"

"Angel? We killed stuff."

"Ah, so you're one of the Sunnydale gang? What are they called? The Scoobies?"

The werewolf nodded impassively as he turned a corner at a rather violent angle. Doyle wondered again if the lycanthrope was insane or just from some unknown dimension where everyone talked like Darlecs.

"You need to take a left here, it's just up this street. Not exactly the grandest of places but at least it's bug free." Doyle grimaced, "I should know. Cordy made me clear the whole damn place after she found a bantamweight cockroach on the floor. Never been big on the bugs has Cordy. I still don't see why Angel gets out of it. I mean, I know he's all heroic, soulful vamp and that but he should still have to clean up around the place. Here we are. Just park anywhere, you'll get clamped anyway."

Oz pulled in and cut the engine, jumping down onto the pavement as he glanced around warily. Doyle noticed and cocked his head to one side.

"You know, you seem a little tense. Don't worry, Cordy hasn't set trip wires. At least… she hadn't when I left…" He looked down at the ground, suddenly suspicious. The lycanthrope shrugged his actions off as he turned back to the apartment.

"It's nothing. This place just stinks of vampire."

Doyle sniffed experimentally. "Dunno, I can smell Chinese takeout but that's about it."

"You're standing in it."

"So I am."

"DOYLE!!! WHERE IN GOD'S NAME WERE YOU?!"

The half demon lurched backwards as the door of his apartment flew open and a pink and brown blur leapt down the steps. Cordelia Chase in a pair of fluffy pink slippers and pyjamas with a long woollen dressing gown, crashed into the half demon as she simultaneously punched him and hugged him around the neck.

"Oh my GOD! I was so worried and Angel went off to look for you and I almost called the cops and we thought lots of evil stuff had come and killed you and the files needed sorting but I just couldn't concentrate cause I was worried sick and- "

Oz wondered if he should intervene; the Irishman was starting to turn a rather interesting shade of blue. Shrugging he turned back to pull his crossbow and bag out of the van as Doyle struggled.

"Uh, Cordy?"

"- And Angel found your car and it was all smashed up and we thought that you might be somewhere all smashed up and oh GOD I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Cordy! Need… to… breathe!"

"Oh yeah…" She released her tenacious hold on his neck only to gasp at the sight of the bruises left on his neck and face by the vampire attack.

"Oh my GOD!"

Oz sniffed and turned his head slightly.

"Hey Angel."

The dark-haired figure walked up from behind Oz and stood next to him watching Cordelia fussing over Doyle.

"Oz. Didn't know you were going to drop by."

"Me neither." The vampire's gaze dropped to the crossbow in Oz's hands.

"Trouble?" Oz shook his head slightly. "Nah. Vamps attacked Doyle. I helped him out." Angel nodded again as he noted that Cordelia seemed to be coming to the end of her lecture.

" – And if you _ever_ do it again you will be sorry Mister!" Finished fuming, Cordelia turned to Angel and was about to start on him when she caught sight of the impassive werewolf standing next to him.

"Oz! What are you doing here? Oh never mind it's freezing out on in and please put that crossbow away. I don't need any more reminders of what Mr. Irresponsible here got himself into. Besides I do not like having those things pointed at me."

Angel smiled wryly, silently seconding the sentiment.

Oz slung the crossbow over his shoulder along with his guitar as the motley collection traipsed into the apartment. Cordelia snatched an ice pack out of the freezer and threw it distractedly at Doyle, hitting him in the already bruised head and sending him into the sofa.

"And don't even think about getting up!" she threatened as she filled the

kettle, shoving a stack of calling cards out of the way.

"Wasn't planning on it sweetheart." Doyle groaned as he pressed the ice pack gingerly against his abused cranium. Angel draped his leather duster over the back of the sofa. "Found your car by the way."

Doyle looked up at him hopefully. "Where?" Angel collapsed into the chair

behind the desk. "Well… most of it was scattered around 49th Street…"

"I don't want to know." Angel gave him a sympathetic look before fixing his eyes on Oz who was sitting on the window sill, one leg pulled up to his chest with his elbow resting lightly on his knee as he gazed out of the window. "So,

Oz, what you doing in LA?"

The werewolf turned away from the glass, his familiar distant look back on his face. "Touring. We've had a few gigs around. Should be heading back tomorrow." Angel nodded but Oz could tell that he wanted to know something else.

"Buffy's fine."

Angel looked up sharply, locking eyes with the wolf, dark meeting green. Oz continued speaking plainly.

"She misses you. Was a little moody for a while but she got over it."

The vampire held the gaze for a few seconds longer before dropping his eyes to the floor, battling with his conflicting emotions. Oz watched as shadowed eyes darkened and then brightened before being shuttered again. All at once, Angel was back.

"Good… that's good." He inhaled and exhaled slowly, taking in air that he didn't really need. Breathing was a difficult habit to shake even after two hundred and forty or so years. Stretching stiffly he cracked his neck audibly making both Doyle and Cordy wince. "I'm gonna take a stroll. Beat up some bad guys. See you later guys. Bye Oz."

"Angel! Calling cards!" Cordelia shouted after him, throwing a bundle of the small objects in Angel's general direction. "And try not to eat the clients!"

"Cordelia…"

"Kidding! Jeesh, can't anyone take a joke around here? Oh, I forgot, one of them is a broody Mr. I'm-undead-and-centuries-older-than-you-so-get-lost guy and the other one's a _stupid_, _reck_less, _care_less, _thought_less, _brain_less - " Doyle dropped his head into his hands and shot a sideways glance at Oz who had one eyebrow quirked as Cordy ranted on, her back to them.

"Is it me or am I lacking quite a bit?" the Irishman remarked. The werewolf smiled his curious half smile and got up. "Say Cordy, you guys got any food around here?" Cordy stopped ranting and immediately smacked herself in the forehead. "Oh silly me, sorry!" She threw one last disgruntled look in Doyle's direction before skipping over to the fridge. "Er, we have icky chocolate, beer or vinegar, not sure which, Doyle's leftover Jell-O, ew mouldy, pig's blood…" Doyle caught Oz's almost-expression. "I'll order a takeout Cordy."

Doyle was about to pick up the phone when, suddenly, blinding pain crashed through his already aching skull and he crumpled to the floor, yelling in pain. Images flashed across searing eyelids: Cordelia screaming; Angel turning, a bright light reflecting in his horrified eyes; a bloodstained silver amulet; Oz with a bloody gash on his forehead, aiming a crossbow; himself with a panicked expression; a beautiful redheaded woman crying; a group of shadowed figures grouped around a fallen figure; blood; fire and a glimmering metal object set on a plinth that glowed a horrible sickly green. The vision ended as abruptly as it had come leaving Doyle gasping for breath, palms pressed against the sides of his head as he groaned.

"Oh God Doyle!" Cordy had rushed immediately to the half demon's side and had her arms wrapped around him, gently helping him up into a sitting position. "Are you okay?" Doyle shook his head slightly, squinting against the now seemingly bright light.

"Call Angel. Now!" Urgency had overtaken Doyle's pain as he struggled to his feet, face set. He did not know what he had just seen but he knew a warning when one was sent his way.

Cordy nodded and snatched up the phone, rapidly dialling a number. Tapping long, slightly chipped nails on the desk she muttered, "Come _on_ Angel, pick up pick up pick up… oh for God's sake! What is it with men and leaving their phones off?"

"Shh!" The sound had come from the doorway into the hall where Oz was standing, tensely, eyes alert. Doyle noticed the way his posture had shifted into a defensive stance that seemed completely natural. The werewolf's mannerisms intrigued him and he found his curiosity piqued. But for now he banished his idle thoughts and stood still and quiet.

"What is it?" whispered Cordelia, clutching Doyle's arm. Oz frowned, eyes shifting through the darkness of the hallway. "Heard something. Smelled something too I think…"

Suddenly a huge crackling ball of dark energy hurtled out of the shadows, flinging the young werewolf backward into the wall, his head connecting with a loud 'crack'. Black engulfed Oz's vision as he vaguely registered the fact that he was going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up.

Doyle gaped as a figure seemingly melted from the shadows. Jet black hair was pulled up into a ponytail on the man's head in which eyes as black as pitch, burned with dark energy, focused intently on the pair. He was dressed in normal street clothes; faced black jeans, a midnight blue shirt and a black leather duster.

Doyle was only a half demon yet the power he felt from this man was almost overpowering and he stepped backwards as it swept over him. He was amazed that he hadn't felt it earlier. Cordelia clutched Doyle's arm very tightly as the stranger stepped over the threshold, his eyes fading into a disarmingly bright blue colour.

The man turned his attention from the two to look down at the unconscious werewolf lying facedown at the base of the far wall. There was a thin trail of blood tracing its way down the wall to where Oz's head was lying and he looked unusually pale. Seeing that the guitarist was not a threat the newcomer fixed his full attention on the half demon before him.

"So, you would be the seer am I right?"

The man's voice belied his appearance; it was light and conversational, his accent carrying a clear British London accent. Doyle swallowed hard and moved a little further in front of Cordy.

"Who's asking?"

The stranger smiled pleasantly.

"I'll take that as a yes."

The man's eyes darkened to inky black in a heartbeat and his hand shot out, propelling a fiery disc of energy straight at Doyle. The Irishman yelped and fell backwards as the mystical projectile soared over him, barely missing his nose. The man sighed and clicked his fingers. Cordelia screamed as an invisible force pulled her up into the air.

"Put me down you bastard!"

"As you command my Lady."

Cordelia was dropped into a graceless heap on the carpeted floor. Focusing his energies into the desk before him, the stranger made a sweeping gesture in mid air and the desk was propelled straight at Doyle.

The Irishman dived to his left but the corner of the desk smacked into his temple and he fell awkwardly, sprawling on the floor as he struggled to clear his already damaged head. Hearing a noise behind him, he turned over to look into the man's cheerful countenance as he loomed over him.

"You know, you may as well save yourself some grief and give up."

"Go to hell you son of a bitch."

"It was just a suggestion."

He raised his hand and Doyle felt the air tighten in his chest as a curling strand of dark energy lashed around his ribs, lifting him off the ground. He hung there, struggling helplessly. Hearing a scream of rage, the stranger reached lazily behind him and caught Cordelia around the throat, stopping her charge with ease.

Doyle gasped for breath as the pressure on his ribs increased. Blackness began to creep into the edges of his vision as he dimly heard a scream of terror and then something hit the floor. 'Cordy!' he thought, trying to claw his way back up to consciousness but the lack of oxygen was forcing his body to shut down.

The man watched dispassionately as the Brachen demon finally went limp, eyes fluttering closed. Kicking the girl's body away he allowed the seer fall to the floor with a limp 'thud'. Far too easy.

There was a faint sound from behind him and he whipped around just in time to see the werewolf shoot a crossbow bolt straight at his chest. He threw up a green light shield around him and smirked as the bolt was incinerated.

He snapped his fingers and Oz felt something wrap around his throat, dragging him upwards. Sauntering over, he tightened the grip around the werewolf's throat, clenching his fist. Oz felt the pain in his head numbing as his brain was slowly starved of oxygen.

"You know, we could have avoided this." The man's pensive voice cut through his daze and he opened one stinging eye to gaze blearily at his assailant. The stranger seemed to consider him for a moment and something flashed through his eyes before he snapped his pale fingers. The wolf fell to the floor, coughing violently.

The stranger crouched beside him, frowning. There was something strange about this boy, an irregularity he couldn't quite put his finger on. A nagging feeling was telling him that he should kill him right now but he was curious. By rights the teen should not have been able to open his eyes after his collision with the wall, let alone fire a crossbow. The young man was lying on his side like a fish out of water, hand to his throat. The rasping coughs that wracked his body were beginning to subside but he did not open his eyes.

"Well now… this is interesting."

Oz heard the strange voice clearer than before and he tried to focus on it. It seemed to be coming from somewhere above him. He felt something cold press against his aching head, clearing his vision somewhat as he forced his eyes open. The blurred outline of a face swam into view and he heard a sharp intake of breath.

"A werewolf? That _is _curious."

The man's dark features held an almost amused expression as he watched the lycanthrope try to push himself up on shaky arms. He took his hand off the young wolf's forehead and pushed him firmly back down, laughing lightly.

"You should be grateful that Sacarven wasn't sent you know. I doubt you two would have got along."

He extended a hand towards Doyle's comatose form and made a flicking motion with his wrist, lifting him off the ground, arms hanging limply like a puppet's. He drew a symbol in the air above the guitarist, sending him back into sleep then turned and vanished into the night with his prey.

* * *

Angel stared bleakly at the wreckage of the once, well ordered apartment. Furniture was strewn everywhere and there was blood staining the far wall and carpet. He walked swiftly over to Cordelia who was lying in a pile of wood that used to be the desk, lifting her gently and being careful not to trip amongst the sharp splinters.

Cordy moaned softly as Angel laid her on the sofa, checking her for injuries. Besides a nasty graze on her forehead and numerous cuts on her arms and legs she didn't seem too badly hurt.

Oz was another story. The wolf had a severe cut across the back of his head and looked like he had lost a lot of blood. Angel considered taking him to a hospital but he wasn't sure how werewolves reacted to normal treatment. He wasn't sure if it was safe to move him at all. He knew werewolves healed quicker than most so he decided to wait and see if he improved.

A groan from Cordelia made him move back to the sofa where he knelt and helped her to sit up.

"Cordy?"

She squirmed a little as she felt arms around her.

"Donwannagotaschooool…"

"Cordy…"

"Five more minutes…"

"You don't go to school anymore Cordy. Remember? Buffy blew it up."

"She did? Oh good… Angel!"

She sat up hurriedly, eyes wide as she stared around the ruined apartment.

"Oh my God…"

"Cordy?" Angel took her gently by the shoulders, "I need you to tell me what happened. Where is Doyle? Who attacked you?"

She took a deep shuddering breath and sat up a little straighter.

"Okay… Oz said he could hear something or smell something or something, which is still seriously creepy by the way. Anyway, he got hit by this big magicky blob thing and got knocked out and this really creepy guy came in…"

She looked at him with big anxious eyes.

"He knew he was the seery visiony person and he attacked us and he must have kidnapped Doyle and… oh God…"

She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

"What are we gonna do Angel?"

The hopelessness in her usually bubbly and upbeat voice made his heart burn. The vampire wasn't very good at doing 'positive' but he would have to try, for all their sakes. Standing up, he walked over to the window and stared darkly out over the lights of Los Angeles.

"We need a plan."

* * *

Rupert Giles was enjoying one of his rare free nights at home, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a cup of tea in one hand and a thick, leather bound book in the other.

And then the phone rang.

* * *

Good? Bad? Terrible? R&R. 


	2. Okay That's Just Weird

**THANKYOU!!! To all my thousands of adoring fans out there ( i.e. the people who took pity on me and bothered to review) You were my inspiration to write another chapter because I was feeling depressed and unloved. Thankyou all so much for the positive comments.**

**Insane Troll Logic**: Yay! My first ever review! Love the name. I'll keep writing so long as you keep reading _and _reviewing. Thankies!

**Carol J.**: Danke! I'm writing as fast as I can!

**Lady Hawke**: I love Doyle stories too! That's probably why I'm writing one I guess… Thanks for the review! You are wonderful!

**jewel21**: I love Oz too! I missed that episode and I was so pissed off! It's not fair. I read the transcript but it's just not the same. As for why they took him… well that would be telling. Put it this way, if you love Doyle and you don't want to become a nervous wreck then DEFINITELY don't read this chapter. If you like stuff like that, well then, enjoy!

**R&R!** **If you don't, I will send my Evil Alter Ego to kill you. Once I find her that is… wanders off **

Chapter 2 

Doyle rummaged around in his brain and kicked a few sluggish senses back into shape. He wondered if it was a good idea to open his eyes. The sensible part of his brain told him that it was the stupidest idea he could have thought up. The rest of his brain reasoned that he usually did the stupid thing and that he might as well find out exactly how screwed he was.

His eyelids seemed reluctant to comply but he stubbornly pried them open, blinking a few times. He engaged himself in the familiar task of chivvying the little black dots out of his line of vision as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. If his eyeballs hadn't felt like fuzzy balls of cotton wool crammed far too tightly into his skull, he probably would have rolled his eyes.

He was seated against a mouldering stone wall on one side of a very plain, very square, room. The meagre light source was one single, low power electric bulb that hung from the ceiling by a frayed black wire.

The cell was completely bare except for a pair of heavy, rusted manacles that were, he noted with some annoyance, fastened securely around his wrists. He sighed and sat up a little straighter, wincing as his neck clicked.

"Oh bugger."

He tried to turn his head the other way but yelped in pain. He was now stuck staring at his left hand and would continue to do so until the cows came home if he couldn't do anything about it. Wonderful. Pretty much summed up his entire life really.

He resisted the urge to laugh and tried to pull himself together. Hopefully Angel would be dropping by sometime soon to get him out of this dump and then he could figure out why the Powers seemed to be conspiring against him.

He was jolted out of his maudlin musing by the unmistakable sound of a key being turned in a lock. A loud, metallic 'clunk' sounded. Doyle winced at the harsh screeching that sounded in his ears as the rusted hinges were strained. The enormous slab of steel swung inwards and a thin beam of light sliced through the darkness within the dank cell.

Doyle fervently wished, more then ever, that he could see what he was dealing with. He felt the blood pounding in his ears as his breathing quickened. The sound of soft, whispering footsteps reached his hearing and he steeled himself, preparing for the pain that would accompany looking up. He began to turn his head when something cool touched his neck.

"Hold still." The voice was soft, feminine but strangely childlike.

He froze as a strange sensation tingled through his body and his eyes momentarily unfocused. He shook his head trying to clear his vision before realising the implications of the action. He looked up sharply.

Doyle was taken aback. He had been expecting some tall, creepy man in a black cape chuckling evilly and prophesying his doom. He had not been expecting a large pair of green eyes peering at him in concern. The eyes belonged to a young woman, about nineteen years old, with very white skin stretched too tightly over delicate features.

How she had managed to push the door open, Doyle hadn't a clue. Her arms were like sticks, one of her frail spidery hands resting on his shoulder. Soft, russet coloured hair smelling faintly of vanilla and honeysuckle lay in gleaming folds on the shoulders of her pale green robe, a white rope girdle tied around her waist. The material made a light whispery sound as she stood up and moved back over the door to where she had put a lantern and, as Doyle could now see, a plate of food and a cup.

"Who – "

Doyle stopped and cleared his throat, which was feeling oddly like very coarse sandpaper. The woman smiled and picked up the cup and the food. She carried them over as he tried to speak again.

"Who… are you?"

Doyle wanted to ask more but the woman shook her head and lifted the cup to his lips. He sniffed the mixture suspiciously. The young woman laughed quietly and showed him the contents.

"It's just water and mint. It helps to clear your head."

He took a sip and gagged as the cold liquid hit his parched throat, swallowing with difficulty. It tasted innocuous and so the half demon hungrily gulped another mouthful. The redhead pulled the cup away gently.

"Not too much, you'll give yourself an even worse headache."

He nodded and sighed, feeling his thoughts beginning to collect themselves together, his senses sharpening. He watched the woman's movements warily as she unlocked the heavy manacle around his right wrist, lifting it away. Doyle's hand felt abnormally light without the weighty restraint as he lifted it and flexed his fingers. The woman pushed the plate towards him, smiling again.

"Here you go, eat something, you must be starving."

Doyle looked down at the plate. Arranged very neatly were small, triangular sandwiches. The woman smiled proudly.

"I made them myself. All on my own."

He frowned and looked up, meeting her bright green eyes in a quizzical gaze, wondering if she was patronising him. All he saw was a bare innocence and faint lines of anxiety that creased her delicate face.

"D-did I do it wrong? I'm sorry, I did try hard. M-my hands shake."

The half demon was amazed to see tears fill the large green eyes. She hunched over and wrapped her thin arms around her legs, drawing them up to her chest.

"I tried, I did. Everything I touch goes bad ways. I don't mean it…"

She rested her chin on her knees as huge, crystalline tears crept down her hollow cheeks. Doyle felt a wave of compassion wash over him for this strange creature. Reaching out he touched her hand gently; afraid that if he was too rough she would break like a delicate china doll.

"What's your name?"

She lifted her head and sniffed once or twice, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Mishakara. But Kaeden, my brother, calls me Mishka. What's yours?"

He smiled warmly.

"Allen Francis Doyle, you can call me Doyle."

She wrinkled her nose.

"Doyle… that's a strange name. I don't know anyone called Doyle."

He tilted his head to one side.

"Yes you do. I'm called Doyle."

Mishka giggled and he felt a faint thrill of victory at the happy look on her face. He grinned back, taking one of the sandwiches from the plate and biting into it. She watched apprehensively as he chewed and swallowed.

"Even better then my Ma's. Fantastic!"

She seemed delighted at the simple praise and clapped her hands, settling herself more comfortably beside him.

"Can you sing?"

The question caught the Irishman completely by surprise and he blinked owlishly at her, a rather foolish expression that made her giggle again.

"Never really tried, lass. How about you?"

She nodded eagerly, wisps of her russet hair falling into her shining emerald eyes. Doyle chuckled.

"Will you sing to me?"

She chewed her thumb shyly as she stood up, clasping her hands in front of her. As he watched, he saw something strange come over Mishka. Her childlike expression faded and the sadness of thousands seemed to cross her face as the haunting notes echoed through off the stones.

_When the evening falls,_

_And the daylight is fading,_

_From within me calls,_

_Could it be I am sleeping?_

_For a moment I stray,_

_Then it holds me completely,_

_Close to home,_

_I cannot say,_

_Close to home,_

_Feeling so far away._

Doyle felt tears collect in his eyes. Mishka's voice was divine, soft, clear notes echoing faintly as she sang. Her voice had grown deeper, more mature, as she wove the beautiful melody into the air.

_As I walk the room,_

_There, before me a shadow,_

_Of another world_

_Where no other can follow,_

_Carry me to my own,_

_To where I can cross over,_

_Close to home,_

_I cannot say,_

_Close to home,_

_Feeling so far away._

_Forever searching, never right,_

_I am lost in oceans of night,_

_Forever hoping I can find,_

_Memories,_

_Those memories I left behind._

Suddenly, her face fell and she looked down, a sad expression on her face. The soft, enthralling sound died away.

"I… I can't remember the rest…"

Doyle sniffed hard, brushing the back of his hand roughly across his eyes.

"That's a beautiful song. Where did you learn that?"

Mishka smiled faintly and uttered one word like a prayer.

"Mummy."

She stooped down and picked up the lantern, a wan smile curling her thin, pale lips.

"I have to go now. The master will be angry if I am late."

The Brachen demon was suddenly put in mind of a creature he had only ever seen in photographs and wildlife magazines: a fawn. This quiet girl with her long, thin limbs, glimmering red hair and large, trusting eyes, even the way she moved; unsure and timid; made her look like exactly like one.

Doyle nodded and returned the smile.

"I hope to see you again Mishka. Your singing was amazing. Your mother taught you really well."

Mishka paused at the door, her head bowed.

"She's dead."

She looked around at the half demon, something strange glimmering in her eyes.

"Thank you."

Without another word, Mishka turned and left, dragging the enormous steel door closed behind her, arms shaking like a leaf in the wind, leaving a thoroughly confused seer behind her.

"_Hello, Rupert Giles speaking."_

"Giles!"

Angel breathed a faint sigh of relief. Cordelia was knelt on the carpet beside the still unconscious werewolf, eyes wide as she watched Angel's face anxiously. They had gone over the details of the attacks again and again as they tried to figure out what to do. It had been Cordelia's idea to phone Giles and now it was a matter of praying that the librarian had the answers they needed and that he would not hang up as soon as he heard Angel's voice.

"_Angel."_

The vampire could hear the ice in the librarian's tone. He closed his eyes and started to talk, desperate to have the Brit actually hear him out.

"We need your help. We were attacked."

"_Attacked? By what?"_

"We don't know. Cordy said it was a man. By the description I'd say warlock of some kind."

He could practically see the slight crease in Giles's forehead as the librarian went into thinking mode.

"_This man, was he wearing any sort of symbol? A-a tattoo or an insignia at all?"_

Angel shook his head, even though the Watcher could not see him.

"No, nothing that Cordy saw."

He heard scrabbling sounds at the other end of the line as Giles searched through his private book collection, phone trapped to his ear between his head and his shoulder as he flipped through a the dusty sheaves of paper.

"_Did he take anything in particular or did he just try to kill you?"_

Angel clenched his teeth. He kept telling himself to be patient but the thought of Doyle out there somewhere, alone with people hurting him…

"No he didn't 'just' try to kill us. He attacked when I was out. He kidnapped our friend, Doyle."

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. Angel paced up and down, watched by an unusually silent Cordelia.

"_Could it… perhaps, be revenge for something do you think? Something that you did before you got your soul?"_ the librarian asked, delicately.

Angel shook his head impatiently, his quick, angry strides getting more agitated by the minute. The thought of one of his few friends missing and the sight of another injured and unconscious at his feet was starting to eat away at the soulful vampire's all ready battered composure.

"I've all ready thought of that but it doesn't seem to be a vengeance thing. They would have left us a note or something challenging me, something to hurt me. There's been nothing."

A soft groan diverted the vampire's attention. Oz turned his head to one side, eyelids fluttering open. Angel crossed the room to kneel swiftly beside Cordelia who was supporting the rather disoriented lycanthrope, helping him to sit up. Oz squinted painfully in the bright light and raised a hand to cover his eyes.

"What hit me this time?"

Well, thought Angel, at least he sounds like the same Oz. Cordy beamed at him although there was a little less spirit in the gesture than usual.

"A big, black, blobby, magicky thing."

The young werewolf raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from her to Angel who fixed him with an urgent stare.

"Oz, do you remember anything about the guy who attacked you? What was that Giles?"

The vampire's attention turned back to the receiver.

"Yes Oz is here. Yes he was attacked as well. Yes I know Willow will be worried sick. Giles I didn't – "

"He said something."

Angel looked quizzically at Oz who appeared more alert than before, even though he was still very pale. The werewolf pressed a hand to his head as he tried to remember without giving himself a worse headache in the process.

"I woke up… and I went for the crossbow. He had a shield or something. I pretty much blacked out after that but… I swear he said something."

Angel waited, trying to contain his impatience and anxiety as Oz gingerly touched the large cut on the back of his head, looking mildly surprised at the blood on his fingers.

"Ow. Okay, that could be why I can't remember anything. He said… he knew I was a werewolf," he said slowly, eyes closed, "and that something was lucky…"

Cordelia snorted, folding her arms, "Well, whatever was lucky, it sure wasn't us."

Oz and Angel ignored her.

"Sacarven," muttered Oz.

"What?"

"_I didn't say anything."_

"Not you, shut up."

"_You know, for being more than two hundred and forty years old you still have the manners of a juvenile teenager."_

"Shut up. Who's Sacarven?"

Oz shrugged.

"No idea. The guy just said I was lucky not to have met him."

Cordelia rolled her eyes.

"Oh, that's helpful. We have to go looking for someone that the evil guy told us not to. Yay, fun."

Angel jotted the name down on the back of one of the calling cards Cordy had given him.

"Cordy, this is the only way we're going to find Doyle."

She looked down at the ground, her arms wrapped around her body.

"I know… I just…"

She shook her head, biting her lip as she fell silent. Angel shot a worried glance at her before turning his attention back to the phone, speaking quietly.

"Giles, we need to find someone called Sacarven, he might be a warlock too. Ring any bells? Giles?"

"_Oh, now you want to talk to me?"_

"Okay, now you're the one acting like a teenager."

"_Apologise."_

Resisting the urge to throw the phone at the wall with all the strength of a pissed off vampire, Angel took a deep, calming breath.

"I'm_ sorry_ okay?"

"_Good. Do you have a… a computer?"_

The librarian said the last word as though it was some sort of vulgar swear word. Angel smirked.

"Yeah, we do. It's even got Internet connection and everything."

"_Very droll. Look up the name. Tell me what you find."_

Angel walked over to the computer and switched it on.

"Er… did I say I have no idea how to use this thing?"

If he didn't know better he could have sworn he heard Giles snigger. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around to see Oz standing, albeit a little unsteadily, beside him.

"Move."

Angel obliged, handing the phone to the werewolf who lifted it to his ear as he sat down, typing with one hand.

"Hey Giles. Fine. I'm only seeing two of stuff. It'll pass. What do you need?"

Angel sat down next to Cordelia on the sofa, putting an arm around her shoulders as he searched for something to say.

"Don't worry Cordy, we'll find him."

She looked at him with big, sorrowful eyes.

"I shouted at him Angel. I said he was worthless and brainless and stupid. What if he's dead and the last thing I ever said to him was that he was worthless? I mean, I didn't mean it, I was just so worried, even though he is a bit stupid sometimes but in a nice, funny, Doyle-like way. Oh God, what if – "

Angel took her firmly by the shoulders, interrupting her babbling. He turned her gently around to face him.

"Cordy, listen to me. We'll find him, don't worry. I'll kill the people that took him and you can tell him whatever you like. He is not dead, I know he isn't."

"Hey, Angel, Cordy, look at this."

They looked up at Oz who beckoned them over. Angel leaned down beside him, eyes searching the glass screen.

"Check this out, the guy has a website about himself."

Angel took the mouse and scrolled down, looking at the contents.

"Well… I can see what your friend meant about lucky."

The page was a list of names, some with an address or an age attached, some with photographs, men and women, old and young. Cordelia stared at the screen.

"Who are they?"

Oz narrowed his eyes, scrolling back up to the top of the page. Printed in big, bold letters at the top were the words: 'WEREWOLVES ARE SCUM. KILL THEM ALL.'

Angel raised his eyebrows.

"Sounds like someone's a little bitter."

"Love the subtlety there," Oz remarked, completely deadpanned.

There was a search option at the top. Oz swiftly typed in 'Sunnydale'. Three names flashed up onto the screen, swimming against the black background.

'_Michael Rusik' – eliminated by Tracker_

'_Keira Soma' – eliminated by Tracker_

'_Daniel Osbourne' – alive_

Beside his name was a picture of what was unmistakably him, standing on stage playing his guitar.

Oz quirked an eyebrow.

"Look at that. I'm famous."

Cordelia frowned at the list.

"Who's 'Tracker'?"

Oz shrugged a little.

"It could be that guy we ran into before; Cain. That might explain how he managed to get two Sunnydale wolves but not me."

He clicked on a link that took him chart. Names like 'Wolfsbane', 'Silverbolt', 'The Executioner' and so on, were all listed in a chart. Oz looked through the names.

"I'm guessing the guy we want is 'Angel of Death'. He's got the most kills."

Cordelia's hand shook a little as she pointed to one of the pictures.

"Look."

They looked. The picture was of a girl with curly brown hair and a big smile on her face. She was holding a cuddly rabbit and waving at the camera. Pinned to her chest was what looked like a birthday badge with a big number ten on it. Next to the picture were the words, 'Lucy Stokes – eliminated by Angel of Death'. Angel's jaw clenched.

"Giles?" Oz's voice seemed a little strained, We're looking for a werewolf hunter, the 'Angel of Death'."

Cordelia walked back over to the sofa and sat down, eyes watering slightly.

"This hunter, he killed a little girl because she was a werewolf?"

Angel's hands were balled into fists.

"He's not a hunter Cordy. He's a murderer."

On the other side of the room, Oz nodded and put the phone down. He ran a hand through his hair and blinked hard a few times.

"This guy's killed over two hundred werewolves. Half of them had to be identified by their dental records."

He looked tiredly at the other two.

"Good news is, his hideout is in LA, about two miles away. Or that could be bad news I guess."

Angel nodded decisively.

"We go there, we find out what the hell this is all about, find Doyle, bring him back."

He gave Oz a critical look.

"Are you okay?"

The young werewolf nodded, getting to his feet. Aside from blinking more than usual and having a rather large cut across his head, the lycanthrope seemed more or less recovered.

"Let's go."

Doyle was definitely not having a good day. He was in fact having such a spectacularly bad day that if he had had a chart of bad days then this one would probably be about third and a bit. It had taken a negative turn the moment the door of his prison was dragged open for the second time.

Firstly, the screeching of rusted hinges was murder on his ears and secondly the two hooded figures that had entered hadn't been the most cordial of folk. Without a word they had walked over, unchained him, shoved a sack or something over his head and proceeded to drag him from the cell.

They had brought him to his place, wherever this place was, and had then had had the nerve to nick his shirt before leaving. When he had attempted to protest, one of them had slugged him hard in the jaw, leaving his head with feeling that he'd been walking in very small circles for a month. The bastards hadn't even let him finish his bloody sandwiches.

As far as he could tell, he was hanging by his wrists, presumably from the ceiling, in chains. He wondered idly if it would be less painful to be tied up with rope. Shivers wracked the Brachen demon's body and he could feel goosebumps prickling all over his bare skin. He had a feeling that his next visit would not be as enjoyable as Mishka's. If he had known how right he was, he probably wouldn't have been worried about his sandwiches.

"So… you are the seer."

A hoarse, wheezing voice invaded his eardrums at about the same time the suffocating covering was wrenched off his head. He squinted, shying away from the seemingly blinding light coming from flaring torches set in brackets on the walls. As his eyes adjusted, his feeling of unease soared. The room he was in was infinitely creepier than the one he had been in previously. He could now see that the torch brackets were in fact human skulls, mouths twisted in eternal agonised screams. Doyle swallowed hard and tried not to imagine his own skull up there with a piece of burning wood stuck through the top. Stress the 'tried'.

Looking down didn't really do much to assuage his fears. Two men were standing about two metres away from him, the younger of the pair standing a respectful distance behind the elder. The young man had straggly shoulder length hair that clung to his thin, pasty face like slimy tentacles. His eyes were muddy brown and the iris seemed much larger than average giving him the general look of some sort of slimy eel as he stared unblinkingly at Doyle.

The older man could not have been more different. He had short, well-trimmed silver hair, brushed back neatly on his scalp. He wore long black robes with strange symbols embroidered in silver around the cuffs and hem. His eyes contained no pupil and were the colour of arctic ice in midwinter. His expression was twice as cold.

"You are the seer."

Doyle sighed in exasperation. These people were like bloody parrots.

"Yeah, I know."

The man's eyes narrowed and nodded very slightly at which the man behind him smirked and muttered something. Doyle felt something close around his throat. He twisted his head to one side in a panic, thrashing weakly in his bonds as his vision started to blur. Just as he was about to black out, the hold on his windpipe eased and he slumped forward, coughing hoarsely.

"Do not answer back seer. I am the great Zariel. You are no more than a piece of dirt beneath my feet."

'At last,' thought Doyle, 'I was wondering what had happened to the bit where the evil man prophesies my doom'.

"Look at me when I speak to you seer."

Doyle looked up and smiled crookedly at him.

"Sorry Mummy."

The chokehold lasted longer that time.

A minion appeared from the shadows, carrying a cushion upon which rested an object wrapped in black gauze. Doyle watched under stinging eyelids as the old man took the object with much ceremony. The minion backed silently away head still bowed.

Zariel turned back to Doyle smiling in the way that a psychopath smiles as he cuts his victims into tiny little pieces. Doyle wondered vaguely why his brain had chosen to put that thought into his head, now of all times.

"Do you know what this is seer?"

_Of course I don't, you twat, if I did you wouldn't have asked me. Most likely it's something I won't be too thrilled about judging by that smirk you've got plastered all over your wrinkly prune face._

"No."

The sinister smile widened.

"Would you like to find out?"

"Not really."

"Ah good. I am not dealing with a complete fool."

_Lucky you. I am._

"Unfortunately, you have no choice in the matter."

Raising the object above his head, Zariel began to chant, so low and faint that no words could be made out. Slowly, the man drew the gauze away from the object to reveal a long, slim knife. The black blade glittered wickedly as the torchlight played along its fluid length, which led up to a vicious point.

Doyle gulped.

Without warning, Zariel snatched the blade up from the cushion and with a shout, drove it full length into the Brachen demon's chest.

**Cliffie! Mwahahaha! R&R and I'll tell you what happens! Love you all!**


	3. So Who's Side Are You On This Week?

**Hey! Yeah sorry, I'm back. I know I haven't updated in a little while but I had exams and writer's block and homework and crappy stuff like that so please bear with me. For those of you who are still reading this (if you ever started in the first place) this chapter is longer than the one before and contains fights scenes, evil people, stabbing, swearing, teabags, the usual.**

**To all my lovely reviewers out there, I love you all! I'm still kinda shocked that people are reviewing but it's a real help to know you guys are out there.**

**Insane Troll Logic**: Thanks for sticking around to read this drivel. She is a little weird isn't she? I'm really enjoying making all of my OCs evil or insane, it's fun! Yeah I'm sad I know. Doyle really isn't going to enjoy this fic and Oz isn't going to have such an easy time either.

**ka-mia2286**: Yay a new reviewer! Yeah, I love 'em too. In my opinion there are nowhere near enough fics with Oz and Doyle in them. Both of them got chucked before the shows had finished, I mean what the hell was that about?

**jewel21**: Hello again. I've never been on a hit list myself (that I know of… officially) so I wouldn't know but you're probably right. I enjoyed writing that little bit with Angel and Giles, I could just see the two of them bickering. I know the ending was evil, I'm sorry! Well… no I'm not but don't worry, all shall be revealed! I think…

**Angelscribe**: Thank you for reviewing! (God I sound like an answer phone message don't I?) Glad you liked Mishka, she will be appearing later on as will a few more… dubious characters.

**ManniElf18**: Mwahahaha! I am evil! I try my best anyway. I had to put Oz in, the poor wolfie's neglected.

**Carol J**: Ah, you read my mind. I couldn't resist. I was wondering if my OCs were going to be a little boring so thanks for the reassurance. And don't fret, nasty deaths seem to be my specialty at the moment.

**R&R people! The more reviews I get, the faster I update.**

EvilAlterEgo: You said you weren't going to use bribery.

**I lied.**

EAE: I'm proud of you.

**Aww, really?**

EAE: Just write the damn chapter.

* * *

"It's creepy."

Angel rolled his eyes and climbed out of the black convertible, glancing around cautiously. Cordelia's comment, though perhaps a little less refined, hit the mark pretty much dead center in his opinion.

Sacarven's hideout was a mouldering old warehouse with bits of the roof missing and almost all the lower windows smashed in, glass littering the ground. Weeds poked up in between the cracked concrete and the one streetlight that was not broken flickered every now and then. Long shadows lay in every corner and even Angel's heightened night vision had some trouble piercing the gloom. Oz stepped up beside him, his crossbow at his side. Angel narrowed dark eyes as he surveyed the building.

"I can't tell if anything's in there. You?"

Oz took another step forwards, looking up into the empty black windows.

"There's something in there."

Angel moved closer as well.

"What is it?"

The werewolf turned his head this way and that, searching.

"Okay, this could just be the concussion talking, but it smells like our friend from earlier."

Angel shot him a look.

"You mean the guy who smashed your head in, knocked Cordy out and kidnapped Doyle?"

"Sounds 'bout right."

Angel's smile revealed canines that seemed a little longer than was natural.

"Good."

Angel began to pick his way through the debris, burning eyes fixed on the building.

"I've got a few favours to repay."

There was a loud crashing sound and a screech. Angel winced.

"Hey, Cordy, no offence, but maybe you should stay out here."

She hopped over, clutching her ankle.

"Not a chance! If that creepy weirdo who took Doyle is in there I'm going to go in and strangle him myself!"

"Cordy, keep your voice down!" Angel hissed, glancing up at the building.

"Don't worry," came Oz's flat voice, "he knows we're here."

"What?"

"He's laughing at us."

Oz sniffed the air.

"And feeling smug. It's kinda annoying actually."

Cordelia looked up at the building with a little more apprehension than before. Angel sighed again.

"Okay, let's just go shall we? Cordy, stay behind me."

She nodded, fists clenched resolutely. Angel squared his shoulders and strode past Oz who fell in behind him and Cordelia, protecting their backs. The vampire walked cautiously inside.

"At last. I was wondering how long it would take you to actually get in here."

The drawling British voice echoed off the corrugated steel walls, giving the sound a sinister ring. Angel tried not to think of how much that voice reminded him of a certain infuriating blond vampire. His eyes zeroed in on the lone figure standing right in the middle of the wide empty space, arms folded, a smile playing around his dark features. Angel growled low in his throat.

"Who the hell are you? And what did you do to Doyle?"

The man smiled pleasantly at the angry vampire.

"Ah yes, you must be Angel. Noble vampire seeking redemption."

He chuckled, shaking his head, as though genuinely the idea genuinely amused him. Angel's expression darkened.

"Answer my question."

"Do I get a please?"

Angel snarled, eyes turning a vivid yellow.

"I'll take that as a no shall I?"

Oz stepped forward, knowing that Angel was very close to snapping. He had to admire the vampire for keeping calm this long.

"Let's even the score here. You obviously know who we are. Who are you?"

The man seemed to consider the werewolf for a moment.

"I have to admit, I'm surprised that you managed to find this place. I have doubts as to what you would remember. But then, werewolves do have admirable rates of recovery. Still, I had thought that the three of you might have been a little too dense to figure out where to come. It's nice to know I'm not dealing with complete imbeciles."

Angel, with a great amount of effort, managed to keep his temper in check. Cordelia spluttered indignantly but kept her mouth shut, knowing that this man was their only chance of finding Doyle. Oz didn't move but kept staring coolly at the man. After a short silence, the stranger laughed.

"Not in the mood for a scrap then? Interesting. Most of my former acquaintances would have tried to throttle me by now. Nice to know that we can be civil. My name is Kaeden, a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all yours," replied Angel coldly, "where's Doyle?"

Kaeden smiled slowly, an unsettling expression that immediately put Angel on his guard.

"Well… that depends on you. I have a proposition for you, if you're interested of course."

Angel's eyes narrowed.

"Depends on whatever the hell you're talking about."

Kaeden's smile faded a little and his expression became serious.

"If you want to find your friend, I can help you, but in return, you must do something for me."

He glanced around, eyes searching the shadows.

"We don't have much time here. Sacarven will be back soon and he is not the sort who appreciates people encroaching on his territory. Especially werewolves."

He met Angel's burning eyes steadily.

"I just need you to listen. I am descendant of an ancient band of warlocks that roamed the earth along with the demons of old. There aren't many of us left in this world now but a few have joined together to form a reasonably strong group. One member of the original cult has survived the ages and took command.

However," the warlock's tone was far from respectful, "our _great leader_ is far from capable of restoring our "former glory" as he insists is his goal. He is hell bent on revenge and his second in command," he scowled, "Mr. Prarl, is all too happy to help him."

Angel frowned, "But why do you need us?"

"Simple. I need you to free your friend."

Cordelia, who had been remarkably restrained for the duration of the talk, burst in impatiently.

"If you need us to free him then why did you capture him in the first place?! You couldn't have just left us alone?"

Kaeden shot her a withering glare.

"If it were that easy do you not think I would have considered that?"

"You didn't want them to suspect you," said Angel slowly, eyes searching the warlock's face. Kaeden returned the stare evenly, "I couldn't afford them to know it's me who's the traitor."

Cordelia frowned, puzzled.

"Why not? If you're going to betray them, you may as well do it to their faces."

Kaeden shook his head impatiently, glancing around again. "We don't have time to discuss this. Do you want to know where your friend is or not?"

"How do we know this isn't a trap?" asked Angel suspiciously.

"You don't," came the curt reply, "but are you really willing to risk your friend's life to find out?"

"Why should we trust you?" the vampire persisted, "How do we know you haven't killed Doyle already?"

The warlock sighed wearily, "One, if I wanted to kill you I would have done so just after you left your house. Two, if the ritual had already taken place you wouldn't be around to worry if your friend was alive or not."

Angel forehead creased in confusion and Cordelia's eyes grew even wider with anxiety.

"What ritual?"

Doyle gasped as the cold steel pierced the flesh directly over his heart, felt it break through the skin on his back, too numb with shock to cry out. He could _feel_ the metal lodged in his heart, sending pulses of pain through his entire being. Images of his mother, his father, Angel, Mishka, scenes of fights, Cordelia laughing at him all flashed through his mind, bright as one of his visions only clearer, more vibrant.

Slowly, slowly the pain faded as chill fingers began to creep through him, wrapping around his soul. Dark shadows clouded his eyes and his breath sounded unnaturally loud in his own ears as all other sounds merged into a distant murmur, echoing in some far off recess of his memory. He was floating, drifting in a strange, empty mist. No, not empty.

Crowded.

Everywhere he looked there were shades, souls, whatever they were called in this place. He didn't know how he knew, he just knew. Looking through the haze, he fancied he saw faces, young and old, human and those completely bizarre to his mind. They seemed to be moving in one great current, swirling through the space towards some final, far off destination. Except that there was no space.

Shades that seemed within a breath's distance at one moment suddenly became as far as the farthest unseen star. Doyle made to move his arms, trying to make some headway against this endless fog, maybe to touch one of the strange spectres around him, only to feel nothing at all. He could see all around, as though his eyeballs had been taken from their sockets and were hovering free in the air, taking in everything. He saw in a way he had never seen before, all views at once. And he saw nothing.

A thought crossed his consciousness.

_So this is my soul._

He was down to the very spark that was his existence, the part of him that knew he lived and breathed, the part of him that held all of his thoughts, dreams, passions… everything that made him what he was. Human.

Or weird part-demon with a rather complex family agenda, whatever.

Suddenly, he felt a disturbance in the air around, him. The spirits seemed frightened and unsettled. He felt a wave of cold dread as he became aware of a dark presence hurtling towards him. Something smothered him, wrapping around him, choking him. He tried to fight it off but had no way to struggle even if he had known what 'it' was. He could feel it moving around him, some kind of malignant being. Then, the thing, just as quickly as it had come, disappeared. Doyle felt something pulling him upward at a great speed, his stomach lurching, senses spinning.

His eyes snapped open and he let out a ragged gasp, the shaking of his limbs rattling the metal links around his wrists. Freezing sweat beaded his face and he was colder than ever, teeth chattering madly. Head hanging, he could see, even with his blurred vision, the hilt of the knife sticking out of his chest, jerking slightly in time with his heartbeat. He felt sick.

Slowly, inexorably the knife began to withdraw, slipping smoothly out of his flesh with a horrible grating fleshy noise like a bread knife cutting through raw chicken fillets. There was no blood on the glittering black blade. As the point left his skin his confused sense found that there was no wound, no indication that about ten inches of God-knows-what had just been stuck into his heart. There was a resounding metallic 'clang' as the knife hit the stone floor, the harsh noise echoing off the walls.

There was silence.

Then there was a slightly longer silence.

"The ritual is begun."

Zariel smiled widely, haunting blank eyes crinkled in satisfaction. The man behind him stepped forward and knelt solemnly to retrieve the knife, handling the blade as though it was made of glass. Standing slowly, he turned to Zariel, bowing reverently and presenting the blade to the old man.

"By your craft my Lord, we have hope anew."

The elderly man smiled and placed a withered hand briefly on the man's shoulder.

"Rise, Prarl, Faithful one. Your many commendable deeds have helped bring this momentous occasion to be. You will be highly honoured once our glory is restored to us and our revenge is complete. Go now, fetch Kaeden. We will need him for the spellcasting.

The muddy eyes darkened in hatred at the warlock's name. Doyle's head had cleared a little and he remembered that Kaeden was the name of Mishka's brother. Judging by the expression on Prarl's face, Doyle thought that this Kaeden bloke couldn't be all bad.

"But sir…"

A quiet voice cut through Prarl's impending protest.

"My Lord."

Both men looked up at a shadow in the corner that was darker than the surrounding gloom. Doyle was starting to shiver less violently now and so was able to hear the conversation with a little more clarity. Not that what he had heard so far was exactly comforting. The shadow took two soundless steps forward and bowed respectfully to Zariel, seemingly ignoring the other man. Taking other step forward, the newcomer's face was visible in the dim light.

One half of the man's face was covered in a pitch black tattoo of what seemed to be a giant, hissing serpent. Its head, mouth wide and fangs bared, rested on the left side of his forehead, its coils extending down the side of his face and wrapping around his neck. There was a flaw in the mark. Three long scars were traced across his face, one starting above his left eye and the others scoring his cheek. They looked oddly like claw marks. A chunk of his nose seemed to be missing.

He wore a heavy black trench coat and his hands were encased in black leather fighting gloves. The knuckles were studded with curved silver spikes. A large silver medallion hung around his neck, shaped like a strangely ornate cross. His hair was short, a dirty blond in colour. He had eyes of an unnaturally pale blue, the pupil standing out starkly in the middle of them. Zariel nodded to him.

"Sacarven."

"The ritual," explained Kaeden impatiently, "is the spell that Zariel is planning to cast to 'restore our former glory'." Angel still stood defensively, he was far from trusting this man but they seemed to have reached some kind of truce.

"What's so dire about it?"

The warlock snorted derisively, "What's dire about it is that it will destroy this dimension! Zariel and his precious Mr. Prarl, for all their gall and cunning, don't have the competence to perform such an awesome spell and be able to control the effects. I have warned them countless times but they ignored me, reprimanding me for defiance. They… " he paused, looking down briefly, "took… steps to ensure that I could not interfere with their plans. There is a counterspell but it must be intoned just before the spell is actually cast to have any effect. The spell caster also has to be present at the ritual itself. If not, the counter will not be potent enough."

"Why do you need us then?" Cordelia asked as though she were a teacher talking to a student who was getting something wrong despite having the answer right in front of his nose, "You seem like a powerful enough guy. Go blow them up."

Kaeden sighed wearily, "I've already explained this. If I could do I would but I can't." Angel folded his arms, curious despite himself, "Why not?"

To one side, Oz could see the muscles in the warlock's jaw twitch. "If it will satisfy your ravening curiosity I will say… they have something very precious of mine, and I cannot guarantee its safety if I make my move too soon and without backup. So," he smiled pleasantly again, "we both have something to gain, nothing to lose and nothing better to do with our time. Do we have an agreement?"

"One more thing first," said Angel, taking a step forward, "what's the counterspell?"

The warlock smirked and reached inside his black coat. Angel stiffened, eyes alert for any tricks on the warlock's part. Kaeden paused, smiling condescendingly at the vampire.

"Angel, if I wanted to attack you I could blow your head off from over here, don't fret." His hand withdrew from the folds of the black material, a grubby piece of paper clasped in pale fingers. "I have it here. Apologies for the handwriting, one doesn't tend to pay much attention to presentation when torturing words out of a Mortakan demon with a box of tooth picks and a cigarette lighter."

"A pity then, that you'll never be able to use it."

All of their heads turned to the entrance. Kaeden's eyes melted into black pits and he shoved the piece of paper back in his pocket. Two men stood there, one Angel noted appeared to be a warlock as well, he stank of black magic. The other had no magic but looked menacing all the same. noticeably pale eyes, medium build, dark blond hair, snake tattoo, black leather, big on the silver jewellery, claw marks on his face.

The vampire's eyes flicked briefly to Oz who was standing in front of Cordy, scrutinising the intruders, eyes narrowed. The one that looked like a descendant of some sort of mudfish stepped forwards, his features twisted in malicious glee.

"Now I have proof to give Zariel. You are nothing but a worthless traitor!"

"Give the man a medal!" responded Kaeden sardonically, matching the slimy warlock's stare, "I was wondering how long it would take your inherently clotted nervous cells to figure it out. Mind you I suppose I have to cut you some slack. Having the all the investigative skills of a teabag is never easy. Not that it actually matters as I fully intend to kill you now." Prarl smirked, eyes blackening as a dark aura began to form around him. "Likewise."

"Well… seems I get something out of this after all." The other man accompanying Prarl spoke at last. His voice was soft and mellow and his bearing quite relaxed but his eyes told another story. The pale, luminescent orbs were fixed intently on Oz who matched the look with his own cool stare.

"Daniel Osbourne isn't it? Sunnydale."

Oz flicked a look at Angel as the vampire shifted restlessly. Angel clenched his teeth but stood still, Cordelia looked around them nervously from her position. Oz fought to keep his own voice indifferent.

"Sacarven right?"

The wolf hunter smiled coldly. "I'm flattered, a celebrity knows my name. Everyone's after you, ever since Cain missed you a few weeks back, being protected by a slayer and all. Not bad for a young one like you, the older ones are generally the annoying ones. They sneak around like the rats they are." Though his voice was flat, his eyes were burning cold fury and hate at the werewolf that had dared to encroach on his territory.

Oz narrowed his eyes. "If we're rats then how'd you manage to get half your face shredded? Murdering ten year olds?" The hunter's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing to slits.

"You have no idea how much I am going to enjoy killing you, whelp."

Prarl interrupted the hunter's next murderous statement. "I'm surprised at you Kaeden, failing in your duties. You should keep in mind, we have Mishakara under our roof. Still a pretty little thing, even if she is insane." He smirked foully at the fuming warlock. Kaeden closed his eyes for a moment.

"You know, for someone who only gives a shit about himself, your lack of self preservation astounds me." Prarl's grin widened.

"Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Kaeden rubbed his forehead wearily, "You Americans and your catchphrases."

Kaeden lashed out, a bolt of dark energy screaming from his fingers, hitting Prarl and sending him back into the wall. The slimy warlock struggled upright and cast a shield around himself, causing Kaeden's next blast to rebound straight back at him, throwing him to the floor. Prarl grinned, leaping forward to finish the job when he was hit from behind. Angel tackled him to the floor, smashing his nose against the concrete with a satisfying crunching sound. Prarl growled and flipped over, heaving the vamp over so Angel was pinned to the floor. Oz aimed the crossbow at the warlock's heart and was about to pull the trigger when something grabbed him around the neck from behind.

"Gotcha."

Sacarven threw the young wolf to the floor, kicking the crossbow out of reach. Oz scrambled up, disoriented from the bruises that were causing his vision to fog. Sacarven smirked and lunged again, Oz barely twisting out of the way in time. Turning with incredible agility, the blond hunter swung his fist round, burying the silver spikes on his knuckles deep into the wolf's shoulder. Oz felt a terrible burning sensation and let out a strangled cry, pulling back before the hunter could get his neck. The blood on the hunter's silver claws was smoking and turning black as Sacarven smiled, bloodlust shining in his eyes.

Cordelia meanwhile snatched up the crossbow and aimed it at Prarl who was standing over a very battered looking Angel. Fumbling with the sight, she managed to load and shoot. The bolt narrowly missed the vampire as it buried itself in Prarl's leg. The warlock shouted in surprised and pain, gaping at the arrow. Kaeden was sitting up, a hand to his head. Seeing the arrow lodged in Prarl's shin, he sniggered dazedly.

"Oh… thatsh just bloody prishless Prarl. Shot… by a _girl_."

Cordelia's head snapped around.

"Hey! I'm not the one sitting on my ass talking like a drunk with a speech impediment!"

Angel wasted no time but flipped to his feet, landing a devastating blow to the warlock's jaw on the way up. Prarl fell back again wiping blood from his nose and spitting out a broken tooth.

"You'll pay for that vampire!"

"You know if I had a dollar for the number of times people said that I could take Cordelia shopping."

Oz was not having such a good time. Sacarven was fast and agile, cornering the wolf, cutting off his escape. He smiled lazily, pulling a long silver dagger from his belt, holding it upside down, the tip between thumb and forefinger. Straw coloured hair cast a shadow over his face, pale eyes seeming to glow.

"Catch."

Oz ducked, the knife cutting a shallow red line across his upper arm as it flashed past him, burying itself deep into the wall. The hunter wasted no time. As Oz struggled to regain his balance, Sacarven shot forward jabbing him swiftly in the ribs and again in the solar plexus, kicking the wolf's feet out from under him. Oz fell awkwardly, twisting his ankle and landing hard on his side, gasping for breath. Sacarven kicked him savagely in the chest, the wolf curling up in pain, clutching his ribs.

Angel smashed another brutal fist into Prarl's face, aiming a kick at his knee. The warlock was a mess, blood all over his face and running into his eyes. He lifted a hand and choked out a strange word. Angel froze in midswing. His joints felt like they were encased in concrete and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't get free. Prarl dragged a grimy sleeve across his face to get the blood out of is eyes, grinning mockingly at the stationary vampire.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

The smirk was abruptly wiped off his face by a bolt of dark energy that sent him sprawling, courtesy of the now recovered Kaeden.

"If the cat had his tongue it means he wouldn't be talking. If you're going to use pathetic clichés at least use the right ones for Pete's sake!" A sweep of his hand lifted Prarl off the ground and slammed him headfirst into a stack of metal scaffolding poles. He made a quick gesture with his hand and Angel fell forwards, catching himself on hands and knees.

"I'd go and help your wolf friend if I were you."

Sacarven kicked Oz onto his back and planted a heavy boot firmly on his chest, smirking cruelly as the wolf gasped, clearly unable to breathe. He stamped down harder and Oz felt something crack, pain lancing through his chest. With no energy left to cry out he watched through half closed eyes as the hunter knelt beside him, drawing a long silver knife from his belt. Oz took a shaky breath and made a faint murmuring sound, coughing fitfully, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The hunter leaned closer.

"What was that?"

"Head… aches… catching…"

Sacarven frowned in confusion.

"Wha – "

Angel's foot connected with his head with about enough force to shatter bullet proof glass. He flew backwards and slid down the wall, blood running down his temple, eyes closed. Angel looked around, Prarl was still lying amongst the scaffolding, repelling discs of green light that Kaeden was throwing at him. Kaeden himself looked like he was having the time of his life. Cordelia was still holding the crossbow, attempting to load a bolt backwards. He focused his attention on the injured werewolf who was struggling to sit up, coughing painfully.

"You okay?" he asked putting a hand on Oz's uninjured shoulder. Oz, not thinking that talking was a very good idea right now, nodded, spitting blood to one side.

"Okay. Can you stand?"

The wolf nodded again, grimacing as he stood gingerly, Angel supporting him. Cordelia it seemed had finally worked out how to load the crossbow and was aiming it, somewhat shakily, at Prarl who was locked in a staring match with Kaeden, both of them sharing a brief respite.

The slimy warlock spotted the unconscious Sacarven and the fact that he had no allies slowly sank into his brain. He began to back away carefully, a threatening finger pointed at Kaeden.

"Mark my words traitor, Zariel will hear of this!"

An expression of acute concern and intense fear completely failed to cross Kaeden's face.

"I'm being threatened by an invalid and a teabag. I'm petrified."

Prarl flicked his wrist, dragging Sacarven over the dusty floor to him. A web of dark strands lashed up around the pair. Prarl smiled foully at the small group, eyes mocking.

"So this is what we stand against? A band of misbegotten fools attempting to rescue a worthless seer and a little girl."

He smirked at the other warlock again, flat eyes gleaming.

"Your sister will be so upset when she hears you have deserted her… someone will have to comfort her."

The two vanished in a crack of black light leaving a ringing silence in their wake. Kaeden's fists were clenched, his eyes tightly closed. Seconds stretched and the eerie silence took hold. It was not until a minute or so later that the chilling calm was disturbed, by one particular ensouled vampire who spoke two decisive words.

"We're in."

**If you want me to write more then R&R. If you want me to go throw myself out of a window somewhere then R&R anyway.**


	4. Luck Or Not

**Hey look! I'm back! With an update no less! I appear to have lost some of my reviewers, if found, please return to this story as soon as is convenient. I meant what I said about the whole throwing myself out of a window by the way. It's not too late to run.**

EAE: Yes it is

**Shut up. I'm being nice to them.**

EAE: Then why are you updating? They hate you. Go bury yourself in a ditch.

**They do NOT hate me. They reviewed! Look!**

**ka-mia2286: **Hm… good point. Mind you that was the general idea. You really don't want me to throw myself out of a window? You might have changed your mind by the end of this chapter.

**Insane Troll Logic: **Wow, I made someone laugh! I kinda felt it was getting all doomy and gloomy so I decided to completely destroy the atmosphere. Glad you liked it. Oz is in for worse to come, as is our poor Doyle. NOT MY FAULT! Blame it on her! (EAE: snigger) Please keep reviewing!

**jewel21: **Hey! I have now officially decided I HATE writing action scenes. Don't worry I will write them but if they're a little crappy then I'm sorry. I would kill Doyle… so soon. Heheh.

**I love reviews! Musssssst have reviewssss precioussss! Ehem, yeah anyway er… you can do the disclaimer. runs away**

EAE: Oh great, cheers. We do not own anything that will make us rich, never have, never will. Anyone who is reading but not reviewing (evil people) then please review. Or I will come and cover your eyebrows with superglue in your sleep. Here is the next lame chapter. Don't blame me, not my fault.

* * *

Chapter 4 – Luck. Or Not

Doyle wondered if it was possible for fingernails to hurt. Seemed pretty viable from his point of view. But then if you have just been trussed up like a turkey for about thirty six hours, hit over the head a repeated and unhealthy number of times and then stabbed in the heart without actually dying, it's amazing how difficult life's little challenges become.

Such as deciding which bit of you is your head and which bits of you are your legs and consequently, which way up the damn things are supposed to go in the first place.

He had attempted to open his eyes several times but it appeared that, in his weakened state, the small amount of brain matter reserved for filing complaints from his body was queue jumping. He swallowed dryly, coughing as the back of his throat closed up and stuck there, the lack of water gnawing constantly at the edge of his awareness.

Trying to ignore his desperate thirst and the excruciating pain in his manacled wrists, Doyle focused on what little he knew about this place. He set his brain to the not-so-simple task of figuring out where he was, how long he had been here and just what the hell he was supposed to be doing here anyway.

Concentrating, he managed to cobble together a rough mental timeline of his various recent misfortunes. He'd had his car nicked, he'd been attacked by vampires not long after, been saved by a laconic and mildly scary werewolf, been attacked again (not counting by Cordy and her ice pack) and then kidnapped. As far as he could tell, he hadn't been moved since the whole thing with Zariel and the knife, which was starting to make him feel just a tiny little bit nervous.

Not that he particularly enjoyed the creepy old guy's company (hint: sticking knives into people's various vital organs doesn't tend to make a good first impression) but being left on his own in a dark room in chains was not high on his list of favourite things to do. His wrists really were hurting. He had got used to it after a while but the continuous ache was starting to drive him crazy.

Later on, he would have wished he was still in that room.

The Brachen demon's head snapped up at the sound of the door slamming open. The Irishman's neck however, seemed to have gone on holiday without leaving a note, thus making such a movement both impractical and painful.

In other words it hurt like hell.

Doyle sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, waiting for the sharp sting in his neck to recede. He was reminded of a certain young red headed girl and wished fervently that it was her entering the chamber.

Luck, it seemed, was pretty much as well disposed to him as she always was. Meaning that she was sitting on her cloud of irony laughing her head off and sticking pins into tiny little replicas of him.

Doyle closed his eyes painfully, recognising the eel-man from earlier. Hm… eel-man… he'd have to remember that one. He had a funny feeling it could come in handy later.

"Open your eyes seer."

_Sod you._

"I know you can hear me demon."

_More's the pity._

"I only wish for peace to exist between us."

_Yeah and I'm Queen of the fairy glade._

"Peace. I have always loved the sound of the word – "

_It would sound a lot better if you shut up and gave it a chance._

"But your continuing well being requires that you cooperate with us. I may have to take certain… measures to ensure our friendship."

_And that makes sense… how?_

"Allow me to put this in blunt terms, Mr. Doyle, open your eyes or I will forcibly remove your stomach and intestines by way of your left nostril."

Doyle opened his eyes. The greasy haired warlock was standing about ten feet away from him, regarding him with an expression that made the hairs on Doyle's neck prickle.

_Never a good thing._

"Do you know who I am seer?"

_Sure, you are a complete and utter –_

"I am a reincarnate."

_Not quite what I had in mind but –_

"Do you speak seer?"

"Doyle."

The single word rang coldly through the clammy, stale air.

The man frowned, "What did you say?"

Doyle knew he was being completely irrational but the thing annoying him most at the moment was these people constantly talking to him as though he was some sort of ornament that would reply if they yapped at it for long enough. Like a goldfish bowl. A talking goldfish bowl…

"My name is Doyle. D-O-Y-L-E. That too difficult for you?"

It seemed that the last vestiges of Doyle's sanity had made a run for it. This might not have been too bad except that his common sense seemed to have been replaced with all the survival instincts of a chronically depressed lemming.

The warlock tilted his head slowly to one side, eyes narrowing speculatively. Then, quite randomly, he smiled.

"You do not like the name that the… _Powers_," he spat the word like a curse, "have bestowed upon you?" Doyle looked blankly at him.

"If you mean do I appreciate being addressed as your metaphorical carpet bag after being hung up like a bloody coat hanger for twelve hours then, no not really."

"That's not what I meant… Doyle." For some reason, the seer wished he hadn't told the man his name. It was disturbing. "I meant, don't you resent the role that they forced upon you? Do you not crave revenge for them ruining your life?"

Alarm bells were starting to go off inside Doyle's head.

"I don't know if they ruined me life as such… I mean, it was never really much of a picnic even before the hell induced migraines," he replied warily. A change seemed to have come over Prarl's face, an almost fanatical gleam dancing in his muddy, soulless eyes.

"Isn't there a day, just sometimes, when you wish you could just strike out at them for all they've done to you? That you could tear them limb from limb and trample their innards into the dust?"

_Oh that can't be good._

"Well… " Doyle was finding that he really didn't want to upset this guy at the moment, "they're the Powers. I mean, sure everyone hates them at some point… well, except nuns and priests who are actually devout, and believe in heaven and all that but it's not like we can do anything about it is there?"

"Hah!" The warlock's face split into a hideous grin, his expression full of smugness and self-satisfaction, "Think again _Doyle_. Now that Zariel is our leader, the sacred texts have been unearthed and the great ritual can be performed at last! We will destroy them! We will have revenge for all their treacheries and deceit. Why do you think you were brought here? You are the key to their destruction, the missing link in the chain of justice!"

Doyle's eyes widened to the size of small dinner plates. "Oh bloody… THAT'S why I'm here! You're wanna kill the creators 'cos you messed your life up and need someone to blame! God, I've known some sad people but you are just _pathetic_."

The "_let's not annoy the nasty people who can strangle me without touching me" _policy seemed to have slipped Doyle's mind. It came crashing back when Prarl's eyes darkened to jet black orbs of crackling darkness.

Doyle suddenly felt all of the air leave his lungs. It was as though someone had just punched him very hard and he was waiting for the excruciating pain to follow. As he hung there, helpless, suffocating, an aura of blue energy bolts sprang up around the warlock's upraised hand, illuminating his frigidly cheerful features.

"Wrong answer."

* * *

Silence reigned in the darkness of Angel's black convertible. Not that that was particularly strange when considering the occupants of said car. One of them was an ages old vampire with a curse on his head which went he could never feel a moment of happiness, another a mildly concussed and generally laconic werewolf, one terrified out of her wits and the last being the main reason for silence in the first place. Not the most cheery of journeys to say the least.

Kaeden sat in the front passenger seat, arms folded and face impassive as he stared calmly of the window. Cordelia was sitting behind the warlock, clutching the still loaded crossbow in trembling fingers. On the opposite side of the car, Oz had his temple pressed to the cold glass window, eyes closed.

As for Angel, Cordy suspected that there would be grooves left in the steering wheel when – or if – the vampire actually let go. His knuckles were even whiter than usual and he was staring fixedly at the road ahead. Cordy didn't even need to see his face to know that his dark eyes were practically oozing malice, though strange as it may seem, this didn't actually bother the actress too much. What worried her more was that he was driving without headlights.

"Er… Angel?" She winced at how loud her quavering voice sounded after the long period of dead silence. Angel's eyes did not leave the road. "What is it Cordy?" The tone of his voice would have caused any other person shrink back into the seat and make inaudible little gibbering noises for the remainder of the journey.

Cordelia Chase was most certainly not any other person.

She had faced certain death at least twenty three and a half times, had convinced a group of vampires that she was a slayer and even more dangerous than Buffy (whilst wearing her May Queen outfit). She had been sent to an alternate reality and then killed (funnily enough she didn't remember that little episode) and to cap it all she had lived through Sunnydale High school.

A murderous Angel wasn't even in the top twenty worst things she had come across.

"You're driving without the lights on."

"Don't need them," came the brusque reply. Cordelia rolled her eyes, "I know that Mr. Broody. It's a different story for any people coming the other way who can't see us. What if they crash into us?"

"That's their problem."

Cordy was about to point out that it was their problem if the car crashed and they couldn't get anywhere when Kaeden spoke up, a mildly interested look hovering over his features as though curious to know at what point Angel would actually crush the wheel in his grasp.

"I would listen to the girl you know. It's a very nice car you have here. Wouldn't want to scratch the paint work now would we?"

The leather under Angel's fingers gave a faint, tortured squeak. Just the sound of one more infuriatingly cocky British voice made him want to snap the dark man's spinal cord into itty bitty little pieces and burn his eyeballs out. He found himself wondering just how you could torture a Mortacan demon with a box of toothpicks and a cigarette lighter. And whether the method was adaptable.

Oz winced at the hollow creaking noise that only he could hear. Hopefully Angel wouldn't have ground his teeth to splinters by the time they got there. Wherever 'there' was. Speaking – well – thinking of which –

"Where are we going anyway?" Cordy inquired, as if the question had only just occurred to her. Angel and Kaeden seemed to be kindred spirits in that they automatically assumed that everyone would follow them whither they wandered so to speak. To be fair, that was what generally happened if you had the ability to kick the shit out of demonic forces that gave even other demons the heebie jeebies.

"Supplies."

Angel spoke tersely, pressing his foot further down on the gas pedal. The dark machine sped silently through the night, kicking up a dust cloud in its wake, flying forward like bat out of hell.

A roughly rectangular bat with wing mirrors and a registration plate.

* * *

No doubt about it: this day was definitely second worst on his list of worst days.

A part of Doyle that was not submerged in a maelstrom of all encompassing agony thought that the fact he was having these kinds of thoughts in this kind of situation spoke volumes about his sanity. Or rather lack of it. It was most certainly of the 'not good' as Cordy would say. Cordy… her beautiful, beaming face swam fuzzily across his closed eyelids, somehow causing him almost as much pain as the irregularly shaped metal object sticking out of the back of his knee.

A heavy blow to the side of his face jolted the Brachen demon both mentally and physically. A sour metallic taste filled his mouth and Doyle idly mused that vampires had really weird food preferences. What was so great about blood anyway? All it was was a means of transporting oxygen and nutrients around the body, and it didn't really taste all that great either. Like biting a coin.

Another blow came, this time to the back of his head. Doyle jerked forwards in his bonds, blood trickling down his chin from his mouth and nose.

He cracked open one swollen, bloodshot eyelid to grin insolently at the warlock facing him. Prarl had another ball of dark matter clenched in his fist and he looked a little less collected than at the start of their little 'chat'. Forget collected, the warlock wore an expression similar to one Cordy had at certain times in the month.

"S'ry mate, maybe you should quit hitting me in the head. Ain't an awful lot up there t' damage."

Prarl clenched his teeth briefly at the seer's jaunty attitude and snapped his fingers irately. The sharp blade embedded in the battered half demon's leg tore itself free with a horrible dull ripping sound. Doyle let out a piercing scream as he felt tendons snap and an entire chunk of flesh tearing out, hooked on the vicious curves of the torture implement. His entire frame shook violently, feeling hot blood dripping down his mangled leg.

Prarl regarded the chained Brachen demon with contempt and not a little confusion. He had been sure that the seer would be burning with resentment for the hated "Powers" at the burden they had placed on him. He had thought it would just be a case of breaking down the halfbreed's defences and then he would be at their mercy. Now, with the seer showing no signs of begging for his life, he was starting to grow impatient.

He prowled closer to the shivering figure, dark eyes fixed intently on his agonised features. The Brachen demon's eyes were closed tightly and dark blue bruises stood out on his bare chest, evidence of the savage beatings he had been exposed to. His chest rose and fell in time with his hoarse, erratic breathing, each breath a painful gasp forced through chattering teeth.

Moving behind the Irishman, he surveyed the damage that his little 'toy' had done. The back of Doyle's left leg looked as though it had been ripped off. Blood had pooled around the Irishman's feet, streaming steadily from the enormous gash, filling the dark space with an eerie dripping sound that echoed chillingly off the damp stone walls.

"Hurts doesn't it?" he murmured softly, out of Doyle's sight, watching the flickering torchlight cast scintillating shadows over the surface of the crimson pool at the seer's feet.

"So… this is your reward for all you've done. It doesn't matter what you do, how many people you help. There will always be more and they will always take from you."

Doyle was shivering violently, the warlock's tantalising words cutting through his thoughts, no matter how he tried to block them out. "Where's the hero to save you Doyle? How is it that after everything you have done, all the people you've helped, not one has come to your rescue? What do you owe them?"

He leaned closer to the half demon, his slithering voice seeming to be inside Doyle's very mind, "Why not help us? Have your revenge on them. You will be free." Doyle let out a long leaden sigh, his eyelids lifting slowly to expose glazed and unfocused.

"Look mate, if I wanted to hear this sort of crap I'd take up interviewing politicians okay?" Prarl hissed and grabbed a handful of the Brachen demon's dark hair, malevolently jerking his head back and smirking at the pained gasp elicited from the Irishman.

"Fool! Do you truly believe that you have any choice in the matter?" he snarled contemptuously, "You can choose not to obey us but it is both you and your friends who will pay the price!" To the warlock's consternation, Doyle grinned lopsidedly, squinting up at him.

"Well… I'll let you… take that up with… with Angel mate. See what… he has to say. Doubt you'll be… be doing much talking though. Can't talk without… your voicebox." The Brachen demon couldn't possibly have known about Prarl's humiliating defeat at the hands of his friends and yet hot anger bubbled to the surface of the warlock's consciousness. Slowly, he relaxed his grip on the seer's head. A slow, twisted smile contorted his snakelike features.

"Ah, but not all of your friends are under the vampire's protection now are they?" A chill ran down Doyle's spine at the warlock's tone and he strove to keep his voice steady. "What the hell are you on about? Look, I don't really have all that many friends and Angel wouldn't have left them – "

"Then where was he when you were attacked?"

Doyle glared defiantly, the slimy man's smug tone really starting to get on his nerves.

"He knows you're here now, he'll be watching for you."

Prarl's smirk did not falter.

"And what about Mishakara?"

Doyle's eyes went wide in shock and Prarl laughed mockingly, eyes gleaming.

"Perhaps you were under the impression that your little 'encounter' was a _secret_?"

Doyle closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain calm. He had only met the young redhead for a short while and yet he felt a strange protectiveness come over him as he remembered her wide-eyed innocence and her beautiful voice. Prarl, sensing weakness, smirked and pulled another blade from his belt. Placing the cold metal against the halfbreed's back he watched the muscles tense.

"What do you suppose I could do to her?" he asked offhandedly, pressing the sharp edge just enough to break the skin, a ruby rivulet wending its way down Doyle's back. Doyle forced himself to stay still, not wanting to give this slimy git the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

"She is young… and beautiful." Doyle's eyes widened fractionally and he didn't even notice his hands curling into fists. He so angry he was unprepared for the sharp pain that lanced through him as Prarl drew the blade swiftly downwards, cutting a thin red line cleanly over the seer's back.

"Her brother is so very protective, I've always wondered what could have become of her without him. Maybe she would have found someone else. She is so very trusting after all…" Doyle concentrated on the pain in his back, shutting his mind off to the warlock's words, or at least trying to.

"I did see your young friend though, the girl with the dark hair." A thrill of cold fury shot through Doyle at the mention of Cordelia. Prarl saw his reaction and smirked. "She had quite a figure I must say, pretty face too. It shouldn't be so hard to have Sacarven kill the wolf as a distraction for Angel and then I could just nip in and grab her. I wouldn't want to share her."

Doyle lashed out backward with a foot and managed to hit the warlock squarely in the knee with a satisfying cracking noise. Prarl shouted hoarsely, clutching his leg and glaring at the half demon's back. Doyle grinned to himself.

Prarl straightened up slowly, the blade clasped tightly in his hand ice cold orbs boring into the halfbreed.

"I don't think talking is getting us anywhere."

* * *

**RR! PLEASE! I'm really trying to write a good story here –**

EAE: Yeah whatever

– **But I need FEEDBACK! It's not difficult. Just press the little blue button and tell me if you are reading the story. That's all I ask! You only have to write one word! Maybe two. A sentence would be nice.**


	5. We're in good mood today aren't we?

**Thankyou to everyone who reviewed you are all wonderful! (Throws chocolate and cookies) I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner but I was on holiday in france skiing and I didn't have internet connection. If it makes you feel any better I managed to bury myself headfirst in the snow at least five times and I nearly broke my ankle.**

**Insane Troll Logic:** I have no idea what you're talking about

**-J:** blush Thanks for reviewing and good luck with your fic. I found it WAY harder than I thought it would be but I somehow managed to get some readers. Here's the next chapter for you. It's kinda depressing but hey.

**jewel21: **I missed you! Glad you turned up again, makes me want to keep writing. Yeah, I have a thing for lemmings, dunno where that came from. According to my brother I have a knack for building up a situation and then destroying it with a single stupid comment. It's all good.

**Beff: **blinks Okay then.

**Angelscribe:** I really didn't mean to hurt him that much! Honestly! Well... maybe a little.

**Lady Hawke:** You really like the storyline? Cool, thanks. My brother asked me if I'd got it off the back of a cereal box. Thankyou for the positive feedback! I love you! In a friendly way.

**empath89: **Don't worry, I don't do romance, especially not with OCs. Quite a bit of the romance written on here makes me cringe. It's hard enough to find a decent romance story, let alone write one. Doyle is definately not going to fall for Mishka, trust me on this.

**7REVIEWS! That's the most I've got per chapter EVER! I'm so HAPPY!**

**EAE: Oh great, now she's hyper. You see what you've done?**

**Don't be horrible to my reviewers! They are nice people who can actually be bothered to talk to a deranged lunatic like me! Leave off!**

**EAE: Whatever. How are you going to explain this chapter?**

**Er... yeah. Okay I wrote this chapter when tired and in a great deal of pain so my feelings may show in there somewhere. Be nice! RR!

* * *

**

Chapter 5

"Oh please! Swords are SO last century."

Angel had often visualised Cordelia reacting to something in a completely irrational and perfectly Cordelia-esque way… but it really was something else to see it for real.

The young actress was surveying a crate of weapons with something bordering on disgust.

"Okay, this is just dumb, Angel, I mean come ON. LOOK at this mess. The blades are all rusty and dirty and those crossbows look like they belong in a firewood stack somewhere! These daggers are WAY too heavy to be 'light' so-called and where the freak did you get that club? The cave people? Jeesh, get a CLUE would you?"

Kaeden was watching her root through the trunk of weapons with an expression of almost incredulous fascination on his face as she rummaged through the untidy jumble, pulling weapons aside and throwing them over her shoulder.

Angel was sharpening the blade of a long silver knife, the whetstone making a soft _schick schick _noise as he ran it in deft practised strokes across the gleaming metal. He kept a careful eye on Oz as he did so. The young werewolf was sitting quietly in a corner, sorting through a stack of mismatched crossbow bolts, searching for the ones that would fit his crossbow.

He looked okay except for the rips in his shirt, bruises and cuts along his head, his eyes were unfocused, he was swaying a little… okay so he looked a mess, but at least he was still alive.

"I must say," Kaeden's voice sounded right next to the vampire's ear, making him start, "I'm really rather impressed with your young werewolf friend. He has survived an encounter with both myself and Sacarven, a truly remarkable feat especially in one so young."

If Oz had been in werewolf form, his ears would have flicked.

Angel growled low in his throat and said nothing but scraped the whetstone more vigorously along the knife blade. He did not like the warlock talking about his friends. Cordelia flopped down beside Angel holding a bundle of assorted weaponry that she had deemed 'suitable' for their venture.

"Okay, I've got three knives, a sword, a weird throwy discy thing… erm… some kinda spear thing," Angel quickly took the 'spear thing' from her, making sure to point it away from himself, "And a load of these funny spiky cubes."

Kaeden reached over and picked up the large circular throwing disc, eyeing it appreciatively. "Where did you get this?"

"Japan," Angel answered shortly, twirling the newly sharpened knife in his fingers, testing the balance.

"Good quality steel. But does it fly I wonder?"

The warlock stood up, swinging the disc back and forth. Then, without any warning whatsoever, he sent it whistling across the room. Oz ducked just in time, the disc barely clipping his hair. Angel threw the knife a split second afterwards; the blade ricocheting off the pulsing green light shield that sprung up around the warlock. Cordelia shrieked and dived behind the wooden crate as Angel snarled, snatching a sword up from the floor.

He ducked under an energy disc and leapt up with inhuman speed, jumping up and pressing the blade to the warlock's throat, just as Kaeden's fist stopped a millimetre from the vampire's face, glowing with dark energy.

"What. The. HELL."

Kaeden smiled disarmingly at the angry vampire.

"Just keeping you on your toes my friend. I need to know that someone can watch their own back well enough to watch mine."

The dark energy flickered out and Kaeden lowered his fist, turning to smirk across the room at Oz. The werewolf still had an impassive look on his face although his stance was unsteady. He leant against the wall to steady himself, his head spinning.

"Impressive indeed. Good reflexes, even for a werewolf."

"They come in handy where I come from."

Oz shrugged noncommittally, turning back to his crossbow. Angel's dark eyes narrowed fractionally. Slowly, he lowered the blade from Kaeden's throat and took a wary step backwards. The warlock raised a pale hand to his neck, grimacing very slightly.

"So, would you like to know where we're attacking or would you prefer to take the easy way through the spike pits?"

Angel frowned at him.

"How is the way through the spike pits easier?"

Kaeden's grin set his teeth on edge.

"Let me put it this way.it's quicker but you don't always go where you want to."

* * *

Doyle lay in the dark, thinking. Thinking, he decided, was not all it was cracked up to be. For one thing it took effort and strained the nervous cells, which was definitely NOT a good thing in his current situation. However, it did have its advantages. He just hadn't quite got to that part yet.

One particular thought drifted to the surface of his consciousness. He decided that he like the look of it and held onto it. Admittedly it wasn't very complicated or meaningful, nor entirely useful and yet… it was oddly satisfying. It was something solid and certain in the midst of the pain, torment and darkness that he had fallen victim to. It was a shred of himself and it reminded him of who he was and what he believed in.

_That Prarl bloke walks like a constipated turkey. _

The dreaded sound of rusted hinges squealing under the weight of the heavy door wormed its way maliciously into his ears like a cotton bud covered in sandpaper. Doyle allowed himself to go completely limp, feigning unconsciousness. He doubted very much that Prarl would fall for it and yet he really did not want to have to look at him at the moment. He wasn't sure how much more his brain could take before shrivelling up.

The footsteps that crossed the cell towards him however were far too light for Zariel's second-in-command, who seemed to enjoy stamping around like a bloody elephant because he KNEW that Doyle's head had, at the moment, all the resistance of an eggshell in the path of a snowplough.

Not a lot.

Unless of course the eggshell was made from reinforced titanium but, as the typical eggshell is NOT made from said reinforced titanium (unless one tries to crack one into a bowl at which point the shell miraculously morphs into the toughest solid known to human kind) it makes a very good example at this particular point in time.

He cracked open one stinging eyelid. If the other eyelid had not been swollen shut from a particularly nasty bruise that covered the entirety of the left side of his forehead, both of his eyes would have snapped open instantly.

"Mishka! Thank the bloody maker. He finally got something right."

The young red head looked aghast at the Brachen demon's battered frame. A long jagged cut ran from his right shoulder to his left hip, standing out starkly against pale skin, red and inflamed. His left leg was twisted in a way that no normal leg should be twisted and blood had pooled around his ankle, soaking his jeans. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises, making him look not so much like a human as a sculpture done by an international weight lifter using a pickaxe.

A very blunt pickaxe.

"Oh Doyle…"

She began to sob, hurrying over to him. She held a bucket in one hand and a flask in the other. Setting the bucket down, she pulled the top off the flask and held it to the half-demon's parched lips.

Doyle resisted the urge to gulp down the cool, life giving liquid as it touched his throat, taking small sips as Mishka had instructed before. The dark clouds that fogged his mind began to disperse. He wasn't sure that this was a good thing. For one thing it brought his attention to the fact that half of his leg had been torn of and his chest was telling him that he was supposed to be dead. Doyle told it to push off.

"Cheers love, don't know where I'd be without you."

_Six feet under._

He really had to do something about that little voice. He didn't like it when other people were more of a smartass than him.

_I am you._

My point exactly.

_What point was that?_

The one I just made.

_But you didn't make a point._

Yes I did and now you're contradicting it, which just proves me right.

_Well, I am you so I just technically proved myself right._

What so I just proved myself wrong?

_Well it all gets a little complicated at this point, you see, you just proved yourself right and wrong._

Ha! So you admit it! I TOLD you!

_Er… what?_

Ha ha gotcha.

_Riiiiiiiight._

The girl allowed him to finish the rest of the flask in slow sips. She reached down to the bucket and pulled a wet cloth from it, wringing it out thoroughly.

"I'm sorry, there wasn't any hot water. I looked for some but it had all gone. All gone away…"

She reached up timidly and began to wipe the blood from the seer's face, pausing whenever he winced. Doyle tried to stay as still as possible, grateful for the cooling sensation on his numerous injuries, glad to be rid of the sticky feeling of dried blood.

"Was it Prarl?"

The question was asked so softly that Doyle had to wait for a moment to realise that she had actually spoken. He hesitated, not wanting to distress her any further. The foul way that the slimy warlock had talked about her was still fresh in his mind and he felt his insides burn with anger. Suppressing his feelings, he nodded once, struggling to put on his general easygoing attitude.

"Yeah, clumsy bugger, couldn't use a sword to save his life. Don't worry about him."

She dipped the cloth back into the water, red tendrils spreading out into the clear liquid. She kept her eyes lowered as she began to dab gently at the long gash on his chest.

"I heard… I heard what… what he said…"

Doyle's eyes widened and he looked anxiously at her face, finding it hidden by her long russet hair.

"Mishka – "

She interrupted him, her voice growing a little more confident.

"And I saw… when he came out after… he was limping."

She looked up at him with big green eyes, "Did you do that?"

Doyle sighed and nodded again.

"Because of what he said?"

Another nod.

"Oh…" she seemed to consider this for a moment. "That was brave of you. I couldn't do it. He scares me."

Doyle suppressed a pained hiss as she touched the mangled flesh of his leg.

"You shouldn't be scared of him Mishka, you hear me? He's nothing but a bully who picks on people who let him. You're worth a million of him. Always remember that."

She stayed silent as she cleaned the seer's damaged leg as best she could. By the time she had finished both the cloth and the water in the bucket was bright red.

She glanced towards the door.

"Do you have friends Doyle?"

The half demon smiled faintly at her habit for asking questions out of the blue.

"A few."

"What are they like?"

Doyle paused thoughtfully.

"Brave. Weird, very weird… but brave."

"Like me?"

The question didn't hold any type of condemnation, just a mild inquisitiveness. Doyle raised an eyebrow at her.

"You are not weird. Trust me, I know weird. Compared to the people I've seen, you are the epitome of normality."

She giggled, eyes sparkling.

"You're the first person to be nice to me you know. Except for my brother of course. And Mummy…"

Suddenly she got up and held her hand to Doyle's injured leg.

"Keep still."

A pale white aura surrounded her arm and a soft tingling sensation spread through him. The pain in Doyle's leg vanished. He twisted it experimentally and was amazed to see that the gash had vanished.

"How… how?"

She smiled shyly, "I have healing powers. I was scared to use them at first, I thought I could hurt someone… but Mummy taught me. She said that if someone was a good person then I should help them."

Doyle swallowed hard.

"Sounds like your mum was a wonderful person."

The girl nodded.

"She was. I still remember her, you see. So she must have been wonderful."

She sighed and pulled the bucket of bloody water towards her.

"Can you walk?"

He nodded somewhat stiffly.

"I reckon so. Why?"

He had been expecting her to say that Prarl or Zariel wanted to see him again, prepared for a sad face and tear filled eyes. Instead she plunged her hand into the bucket of blood and water.

"Er… Mishka? What are you doing?"

He was shocked speechless when her hand emerged, a heavy silver key clasped tightly in her spindly fingers. The young woman glanced towards the door again before turning back to him, a resolute expression on her childlike face.

"Mummy always said that it was wrong to hurt people and… and that you should help your friends."

Doyle stared at her.

"But… you'll get in trouble!"

"Not if they don't catch us."

"Don't risk yourself for me Mishka, please – "

"I'll just feel horrible if don't though. I'm helping you out of here… so there."

She reached up and unlocked the shackles from the Brachen demon's wrists. Doyle just managed to catch himself before he fell over. He felt a thin hand grip his wrist with surprising strength.

"Hurry! They'll know I've used my powers! Zariel is scary when he's angry."

Doyle pulled himself together, clearing his head impatiently. Adrenaline was starting to course through him and he followed the young girl, slipping through the heavy door into a rough stone passageway, lit by pale flame torches fixed into the walls. Mishka clasped his wrist tighter, looking this way and that.

"We have to go on tiptoe otherwise the nasty men will hear us."

He felt her trembling and reached out his other hand to clasp hers, a silent reassurance. She stopped trembling and smiled at him, the determination back in her eyes.

"This way."

* * *

"This is it."

Kaeden's quiet voice cut through the uneasy silence that filled the black convertible. Angel pulled into a shadowy corner and looked up at the large building. It looked like some sort of disused factory, a single tall chimney reaching above the entire structure, blackened and smoky.

"What is it?" asked Angel, dark eyes running suspiciously over the dark construction.

"An old stone quarry," replied the warlock, squinting towards the looming building, "They built the factory beside the mine itself for making various bits of stone rubbish, statues and tables and suchlike. Been abandoned for almost twenty years. It's a perfect rat hole for Zariel and his cronies. They built a maze of rooms in the old mining tunnels. It's the reason they haven't been found."

"Hey guys, as fascinating as this is, can we go now?"

Angel closed his eyes. "Cordy I am not just sitting around because I feel like it."

"Then why are you sitting around?"

"To make sure that we won't get our heads blown off as soon as we get out of the car."

"Hey, you know what? This car has really comfy seats."

Kaeden chuckled quietly, "I wouldn't worry about being ambushed Angel, the ritual is tonight. You have much more pressing issues to deal with. Sadly, this does require you to actually get out of the car."

Angel glared at him, "Yeah, and I would trust you because…?"

"I'm hurt Angel," Kaeden grinned at him, I thought we had reached a mutual understanding."

"Yeah we had: you don't hurt my friends or try to trick us and I won't be forced to tie your spine into a knot and rip your eyeballs out."

"Well, that seems fairly simple to me. Shall we?"

Angel snorted and turned to the back.

"You two okay?"

"Can we GO already!"

"How about you Oz?"

The werewolf shrugged noncommittally, tilting his head to one side and blinking.

"Cool. Hey, just out of interest, how many eyes do you have normally?"

Angel looked at him in concern.

"Two."

"Ah… not too far off then."

"There it is!"

Doyle sighed with relief. The journey through the dark tunnels had been far from pleasant, even by current standards. For one thing he was freezing cold and the draughty tunnels had torn viciously at his exposed skin. The only good thing about it was that the cold numbed the pain in the cuts he had accumulated during his stay, making walking a little more bearable.

He was fairly sure he had concussion and the tunnels had seemed to sway erratically as they ran through them. Mishka had had to prevent him from falling several times and that had not exactly helped their journey. The cut on his chest had begun to bleed again and every one of his limbs ached with fatigue. To see the small metal door ahead of them was like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

A very long tunnel with spiky bits around the edges.

Mishka smiled happily, her emerald eyes shining in the darkness.

"Now you can go and find your friends and I can find my brother!"

"Well now, isn't that nice for you?"

Doyle felt the blood freeze in his veins at the cruel, amused voice that drifted out of the shadows behind them. He turned too quickly and the world became one large mushy blob. He did not see the ball of dark energy until it was too late. It slammed into his chest, throwing him back against the rough stone wall. His back exploded into a blaze of agony and he felt the raw cuts trickling blood.

He slid into a sitting position at the base of the wall. Through the black haze of ravening unconsciousness he saw a small red headed figure standing protectively in front of him. He tried to fight the darkness but his brain was shutting down around him. He slipped reluctantly into senselessness.

Prarl smirked.

"Hello my dear. It's just you and me now. I've always wanted to hear you sing."

* * *

They were halfway across the darkened grounds when Kaeden stiffened, stopping dead in his tracks. Angel turned back, frowning. The warlock actually looked frightened, as though he could see something the others couldn't.

"What? What's the matter?"

"Mishka."

Without another word, the warlock sprinted away into the darkness. Angel and Oz exchanged a look.

"Okay," began Cordelia, pointing her sword threateningly at the vampire, "Don't you dare run off into some weirdo dark place after some random evil guy who we don't even know."

"That's okay Cordy. You can stay here."

Angel took off after Kaeden, his black leather duster flapping behind him. Oz looked back at Cordy and shrugged.

"Coming?"

Cordelia scoffed, "Not a chance! I'm not about to run into something which is so completely obviously a trap."

"Okay then, see you later."

He jogged away.

"Fine! Fine then just leave me here." She folded her arms mulishly, turning her nose up at the world in general. "I don't care… even if it is dark… and cold… and I don't have the keys to the car… and this place is seriously creepy… that stupid Doyle had better be in a whole lot of trouble! Hey, wait for me!"

* * *

Prarl leered at the frail russet-haired woman standing protectively in front of the seer. He had thought that something like this might happen and he grinned. If Kaeden wanted to betray them, then he would have to face the consequences.

"What's the point in helping him my dear? You'll just endanger yourself and your brother." He smirked, "And you don't want that do you?"

"You leave him alone."

He had to admire her. In the torchlight her eyes sparkled defiantly, her soft russet hair glimmering around her almost ethereal features.

"Mishka, you must understand," he put on a quiet, sympathetic voice, "that sometimes sacrifices must be made, for the greater good."

A flicker of doubt crossed her eyes but she stood firm.

"Doyle's a nice person. He doesn't deserve to be hurt like this. You… you're just a bully!"

The warlock's temper flared at the caring way she talked about the seer, that… that SCUM lying at her feet. So HE merited her affections did he?

"Mishka, you are confused. He was only pretending to be nice to you. All he was doing was using you to escape."

She had always been so gullible, it was almost amusing. But to his consternation she merely smiled at him.

"I know you're lying. He told me not to help him, that I'd only be putting myself in danger. He's much nicer to me than you ever were."

Prarl gritted his teeth, did the damn Powers have to take everything from him?

"Mishka, I really don't want to have to hurt you but I will if I have to."

"You can't hurt me. Not anymore."

He smirked. "Oh I think you'll find I can my dear."

He launched a small disc of black light, intending to cut off a few strands of her hair, just as a warning. He was not prepared for the white barrier that appeared around the girl, deflecting the disc into the wall. The rock shattered and a sliver cut across his cheek, barely missing his eye. He straightened up, spitting dust.

"You little witch! What the hell did you do!"

"What I had to."

She stood calmly in front of her friend, eyes boring into the warlock. To his utter fury, he found himself unable to meet her gaze. This was stupid! She was just an insane little girl! He pulled himself together.

"I'm truly sorry that it's come to this Mishka."

He flung an arm out and sent a bolt of dark energy ricocheting off the metal door, straight towards Doyle's inert form. She spun swiftly and deflected the attack but in her urgency to protect the seer, she had made a fatal mistake.

Prarl leapt at her, grinning as he caught her around the neck, pulling her back against him.

"Gotcha."

He spun her around roughly, a foul look of twisted glee on his face.

"It could have been fun my dear. It's such a shame."

She did not make a sound as he slid the sharp steel into her ribcage.

He dropped her limp body carelessly to the cold stone floor, turning his attention to the senseless seer.

"Couldn't let you miss the show now could I?"

* * *

**Yes it's crap, I know! Please review!**


	6. The Death of an Angel

Okay, this chappie will be shorter than usual but only 'cos I have a soddin' GCSE English essay in for tomorrow and I haven't started the damn thing yet. I'm trying to update regularly as I can but if I am delayed then blame my school. Now, for any Yu Yu Hakusho fans out there I have started a new fic called 'Accept No Substitutes'. I am actually quite proud of it if I do say so myself but I need reviews so if anyone is interested then there you are.

**EAE: Hsss... Get on with it** **dumbass.**

Down! Now for all my wonderful reviewers:

**empath89**: I know what you mean. I'm sorry if you find this chapter a little lame. Thankyou for reviewing! Have a cyber cookie!

**Insane Troll Logic**: Yeah,I liked her too. Of course, this raises the question of why I would kill her... but I HAD to! Here's the next chapter. Can I just say a REALLY big thank you for reviewing every single chapter since I first started? THANK YOU!

**ka-mia2286: **Aw, really? You mean it?_glomps_Heh heh, sorry. I'm just HAPPY! And sugar high...

**Beff: **Meep! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me! Here's the next chapter!

**ezrajade: **Your wish is my command! As long as I agree with it...

**Lady Hawke: **Okay, you flatter me WAY too much, seriously, I'm not that great. But thank you. I try and avoid cliched storylines where people can literally predict the whole story with their eyes closed but I can't resist chucking a few good ol' punch ups in there.

Please review. I'm sure you don't enjoy having bags of flour and water tipped over your heads.

**EAE: **snigger

Here's the next chapter!

**EAE: **Duh...

Shut up.

* * *

Chapter 6

Angel had reached two definite conclusions about what he was doing. One, it was possibly the fifth stupidest thing he had ever done in his _entire_ life/lively death which, for him, was saying quite a bit.

Secondly, he was lost.

Admittedly Kaeden seemed to know exactly where he was going but Angel's survival instincts (his undead ones anyway) were screaming at him that following a man who could potentially blow his head off, had kidnapped or maimed most of his friends and who was, he was pretty sure, not entirely stable was something usually attributed to those tragic heroes in Hollywood movies who generally ended up getting their heads bitten off and their spleens ripped out (or taken captive and held in a gloomy but sufficiently non-mind-corrupting little room until the tall dashing main character and the beautiful not-too-deadly heroine turned up and freed him after all the nasty little men had been bopped extremely non-violently on the head and tied up to be handed over to the authorities so everyone could cheer and ride off into the sunlight etc. etc. depending on how high the rating was. These sorts of films could just scrape a 12A with a 'caution' label on them.).

Not that this bothered him unduly of course as he had the advantage of being, in a film, one of the monsters that traditionally did the biting. Not too mention that being a vampire he was right at home around this sort of terrain. He may have a soul but crumbling into itty bitty bits of loosely compressed carbon molecules was not high on his list of priorities. Catching up with the alarmingly fast warlock whilst trying to keep a safe eye on his friends was, however, and said warlock was not making matters any easier.

"Hey!" Cordelia had managed to catch up it seemed. It was lucky that the tunnels were lit, admittedly with only one feeble torch every fifty metres or so but it was enough. Oz had the same happy gift of excellent night vision so he had no trouble keeping up with the souled vampire. The actress on the other hand was wearing high heels and an intensely focused 'I am NOT happy' look that made Angel groan mentally as she grabbed hold of his arm. Rather than slowing, he pulled her along with him, taking most of her weight as he focused on the fleeting black form of the warlock pelting ahead of them.

Both Oz and Angel tried not to wince at the indignant shrieks from the actress.

"Put me down right now Mister! What the heck is going on? Where's the creepy guy? Where's Doyle? You do realise this is a trap don't you?"

"Yes Cordy," muttered Angel distractedly as he pushed his legs further, willing the ground to close between them and Kaeden. If they got lost down here he didn't know how long it would be before they could find their way out. The scents down here were as confusing as if they were in a rabbit warren, crisscrossing and looping through the tunnels. It would take an extremely sensitive nose to get them out of here after a while. Their scent was strong now but faded after a while. They would just have to hurry.

The fates seemed not to agree with this plan however. As he rounded the corner only his lightning reflexes saved him from colliding with the rigid figure standing in what appeared to be a wide open doorway. The frame was thick and made of steel and, Angel noted with a curiously detached interest, no longer attached to the door. The door appeared to be imbedded in the far wall of the tunnel, stuck into the compacted earth like a credit card stuck into a particularly awkward cash machine.

Angel motioned for Oz and Cordelia to stay back as he approached the motionless warlock, wary for any signs of trickery. He stopped dead as the unmistakeable metallic tang of blood reached his nostrils. His eyes narrowed and he walked warily forward to look past Kaeden, getting a clear view of the larger corridor.

A small figure lay limp on the cold earth, a deep scarlet stain blossoming over a tattered white robe. Soft russet tresses trailed over the ground, framing the figure's stark white features. Angel saw with a strange pang in his heart that it was a young woman, delicate as a snowdrop cut brutally by spring's late frost.

Kaeden moved beside him. Angel glanced quickly in the warlock's direction but Kaeden may as well have been in a trance. He walked slowly forward, his calm, confident stride gone to be replaced by strange jerky movements, his face blank. Angel sensed another behind him and looked around to see Oz staring at the girl as well.

Oz felt his throat constrict at the sight of the small redhead lying in a pool of her own blood. For a moment there he had thought that it was his Willow, so innocent and frail was the figure, so reminiscent of his own love. Even though this girl was not his Willow she seemed so like her… his swallowed hard, a pain forming in his chest.

Angel did not take his eyes off Kaeden's back as the warlock stood silently over the small girl, looking down at her. The vampire could not see his face. Suddenly the girl sighed, turning her head slowly towards them. Eyelids delicate as a butterfly's wing flutter weakly open and Angel found himself under the scrutiny of a pair of deep, misted emerald eyes. Her gaze travelled over him and settled on Oz for a moment. Oz met her gaze, his own sorrowful green eyes telling her all she wanted to know.

She blinked at the werewolf before lifting her head and smiling faintly at the figure above her.

"Brother…"

Angel jerked in shock. This small, frail girl was Kaeden's sister? Cold understanding filled him as everything clicked hollowly into place. Kaeden could not have betrayed his cult without their help because he had needed to get his sister out. And here she lay in her own lifeblood.

"Mishka."

Kaeden dropped to his knees and smiled gently at her. Angel was taken aback at the amount of human emotion that he had never seen on the strange warlock's face. His dark eyes softened and sparkled faintly, strong arms gently lifting his tiny sister to his chest, cradling her in his protective embrace.

Soft russet hair brushed his cheek as she smiled up at him, a strange light in her eyes.

"Brother… guess what?"

He reached up a trembling hand to brush a strand of red silk behind her ear, a cold thrill running down his spine at the frigidness of her milky white skin. She looked so… happy. He smiled inwardly even as his world crumbled slowly around him. He never could understand her.

"What is it Mishka?"

She coughed softly and his heart lurched. His dark eyes were drawn to the deep gash in her side, ruby liquid still seeping, almost reluctantly from the thin body. A knife… someone had stabbed her…

"I remembered."

He looked back to her face, confused. She looked past him, smiling, her dim eyes fixed on something only she could see. A single crystal welled up and spilled down over her hollow cheeks.

"Don't you remember it? I couldn't before… but now…"

Oz turned away, allowing the two their privacy, walking slowly back to where Cordy stood, a respectful distance away. Angel backed away a little but did not take his eyes from the two. He was startled as a voice permeated the chill air. He could not describe it, soft but clear, gentle but ringing with an infallible strength, sweet and bitter, haunting and soothing. This voice would have enthralled a choir of angels.

"_Even though I leave,_

_Will I go on believing,_

_That this time is real…_

Her voice was growing softer now, the syllables fading…

_Am I lost in this feeling?_

A tear slid softly down Kaeden's cheek to fall to the girl's brow…

_Like a child passing through…_

Emerald eyed dimmed…

_Never knowing the reason…_

A soft smile spread over the young angel's features, eyes drifting closed…

_I am home…_

Her smile… so sure… so safe…

_I know the way…_

Tiny fingers closed over her brother's wrist, a feather's touch…

_I am home_

Whispering now, the words falling lightly from icy lips…

_Feeling…_

Her finger's grew limp on his arm…

_So… far…_

Eyes opened once more, fixing her brother with a gentle gaze of pure love…

_Away…_

The last word was no more than a sigh in the still air.

Mishka, the young angel fallen to earth, sang to her very last breath.

Her brother gazed down at her still, ethereal features, her lips parted in a final smile to him.

Kaeden brought his fingers up to her face, brushing his fingers gently over his little sister's eyelids, closing them for the last time. The air that had seemed completely still, began to hum. It was as though some great turbine had started deep within the underground lair, the air seemed to thicken around them. Oz felt the wolf in him stirring and beside him a low growl emanated from Angel's throat.

Dark energy was gathering in a malignant swarm around them and Angel felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He suppressed his demonic side, exchanging a glance with the taciturn werewolf beside him. one could, with some pratice, dechiper the meanings being the two beings' short exchange.

_What do you think?_

Oz tilted his head back towards the doorway, raising a questioning eyebrow.

_Run?_

Angel nodded once. The two backtracked swiftly, Angel grabbing Cordelia on the way, dragging her back out of harm's way. Not a moment too soon. An anguished howl rent the supercharged air as Kaeden threw his head back, a cry of such sorrow and agony torn from his throat that Angel wanted to cover his ears. A single bright tear coursed down the pale skin of the warlock's face and he lifted a hand to his cheek, brushing the tear away, watching as the water droplet trickled gently down his hand. Slowly, the grief stricken features hardened. Trembling hands clenched themselved into fists. The warlock raised his head, pitch black eyes glowing chillingly in the gloom before turning to a deep, all-encompassing crimson. The crimson of her hair. Of her blood.

_"Zariel."_

* * *

I'm sorry it's this short. there will be Doyle in the next chapter, I promise. Please review! I know it was mushy and soppy but come on! Humour me here. 


	7. Spikes anyone?

**AHH! Oh my God I can't believe I haven't updated in so long!**

**EAE: **You are an idiot.

**I know, I know, I'm sorry! I just had writer's block and a whole heap of GCSE coursework to do, not to mention my EVIL mother confiscated my laptop until I'd done it. Grr… anyway, on to the nice bit!**

**empath89: **Here is your update. I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner and I really didn't want to kill Mishka (EAE: speak for yourself). I am growing quite fond of my dear evil warlock myself. He was supposed to be more evil but I guess I've made him into an evil-ish guy working with the good guys. Thank you for reviewing!

**Lady Hawke: **Thank you! I was worried that people would find the death scene terribly cheesy and over dramatic what with the singing and everything, but I had it in the first bit so I sorta had to finish it. Glad you liked that line, it's something I'm quite fond of saying when talking about undeads. Guess I'm just weird eh? (EAE: no kidding) Yeah, she is very very dead I'm afraid and I do have a bad habit for drawing things out when characters die… ah well.

**Insane Troll Logic: **There you are! Yep, I do have a certain tendency to write fairly disturbing stuff don't I? I sometime read through it and think "I wrote that?" Meh, anyway. Yeah Kaeden is going to go VERY mad but not yet. I have plans, oh yes precious I do… (evil cackle).

**ka-mia2286: (sniff) **Aw, thank you, you're really nice to me. Here you go, have a cookie! (EAE: okay, you have GOT to stop doing that, we're running out) Well that's 'cos all my reviewers are so nice to me!

**jewel21: **Yay, you're back! I missed you! I think it was probably better to read the last two chapters together anyway as they were closely linked so yeah. I do try to update quickly but I was the lazy one this time (looks ashamed) so I hope you catch this one!

**Beff: **(looks sympathetic) I'm sorry I'm being evil, there will be more this chapter, really! Have a tissue and cheer up!

**Righto, now onto the main event!**

**EAE: **The threatening?

**Sigh… go on then.**

**EAE:** REVIEW or I shall come and bury you in werewolf plushies while you sleep! Mwahahahahahaha!

; And you say I'm embarrassing...

* * *

Musical instruments have many different attributes and many different people find solace in their astringent and delightful qualities. Others curse at the obvious inferiority of the ponderous double bass to the elegant flute while wielders of the many stringed harp sneer at the narrow-minded violin and the high spirited piccolo laughs at the clumsy tone of the trumpet. And then of course there were the guys who played the piano who couldn't give a damn about the others as long as they know which one they're supposed to accompany.

Doyle was not in tune with this complex web of diversity and subtle opposition but he was thinking about a certain musical instrument. In this case it was a very large gong and Doyle was enjoying the vision of using it to hit the man playing it, over the head. It would have disturbed him to know that several, very prominent figures in the history of various demonic rituals had been thinking exactly the same thing. It would have unnerved him even further to know that he was related to three of them. It was certainly not doing _his _head any favours at any rate.

Mind you, neither was the blindfold, the gag, the smell, or the unknown substance that something seemed to be painting on his cheeks and forehead. The stuff was unpleasantly sticky and clung to him, pulling at his skin like slowly drying mud. But then, he thought that that was probably what it was. He found his treacherous thoughts shifting back to the very thing he had been trying so desperately not to think about.

_Mishka._

He didn't want to think about what could have happened to the young girl after he had blacked out. He didn't want to remember the look on that slimy warlock's face as he looked at the young redhead. He didn't want to. But, he thought bitterly, as that old saying goes, 'I want, doesn't get.'

_Hm… and I suppose it would go away if I said please?_

His dull thoughts were interrupted by the heavy blindfold being yanked harshly off his head. His eyes snapped shut against the seemingly blinding light that invaded his battered senses as he felt equally unfriendly hands pulling out the gag in his mouth. He coughed painfully, his breath rattling through his dry throat.

"We have only two hours. What's taking you so long?"

That voice… he could have sworn he had heard it before… oh yeah. The old man, Zariel was it? Yeah, that sounded about right. Doyle delved deeper into his newfound knowledge, sorting jumbled memories into order. An unpleasant memory of having a very sharp knife shoved through his chest surfaced reluctantly from the pool of drifting thoughts. Oh goody…

Doyle wished he could just fall asleep and forget about everything, even as his eyes adjusted to the light, vague outlines swimming blearily into focus. He wondered how long it had been since he had been knocked unconscious. Again. Part of him was actually fairly impressed that he hadn't gained some sort of permanent brain damage from the whole experience. The rest of him was still wondering whether or not that was actually true.

"Where is the girl?"

The old man's hoarse, rattling voice seeped horribly into his ears, seeming to become clearer every second. Doyle really wished it wouldn't.

"Mr. Prarl said to tell you that he… took care of her, my lord."

Doyle's eyes snapped open at the callous comment, his eyes wide and panic stricken for his young friend. He was unpleasantly surprised to find the old man's pupiless gaze fixed intently on his face. A smirk broke out over Zariel's countenance at the halfbreed's reaction, yellowed teeth gleaming.

"Enjoy your nap seer?"

Doyle didn't trust himself to speak, averting his eyes from the old man, too sickened to think straight. He didn't want to know what 'taken care of' meant; even though he was sure he had a pretty good idea. The very thought made him want to throw up. If Mishka had been hurt… it would be because of him. Because she tried to save him. Because she cared.

Zariel watched the brachen demon with interest, noting the way is face seemed to contort into expressions of sorrow, pain, anger and fear without him seeming to realise. Running a critical eye over the bruises on the Irishman's forehead he shook his head slightly. By rights the seer should be in a coma or something rather than conscious and actually able to understand human language. He had heard that the Irish were thick-skulled but this was taking it a little too far.

He opened his mouth to speak again and then stiffened, turning his head away to glare at the solid wall to his far left. There were intruders in the lair. He could feel their malignant presence seeping into his consciousness, prickling against his senses. He scowled slightly. He hated it when he was disturbed and at such a crucial time too…

"Some people are so inconsiderate." Shaking his head, he half turned to glare at a minion behind him. "Go and inform Mr. Prarl that we have a few unwelcome guests." Doyle's ears pricked up. Unwelcome guests… that could only mean…

_Angel._

"Ensure he expresses our displeasure personally."

The minion bowed and left silently, leaving the room empty except for the old man and the battered halfbreed. Zariel turned back to the seer and was surprised to see a pair of dark eyes meet his own, without the dull hazy sheen they had previously possessed, but… _smirking!_

Doyle grinned inwardly at the look on the old man's face. He had a fairly good idea of who the 'unwelcome guests' were but chose to remain silent, enjoying the old man's look of inherent confusion. Zariel swiftly recovered himself and narrowed his eyes at the grinning seer. Long blue streaks of paint ran in intricate patterns across his bare torso and face, adding to the grime and blood, making him look like some sort of badly decorated lump of mud. One of his eyes was swollen so badly that he could barely see out of it and the back of his leg was still leaking blood from the torn sinew. And yet the man was hanging there, staring death in the face and looking cheerful about it. Ah well, there's always one…

"Is it possible, seer, that you have no idea what is about to happen to you?"

The infuriating halfbreed's smirk merely widened, "Nope, not a bloody clue mate, sorry. Got a few ideas about what's going to happen to you though." The silver haired old man scowled again, his pupiless silver blue eyes raking across Doyle's face.

"You dare to mock me seer?"

Doyle smiled cheerfully, "Sure, why not? According to you I'm going to be dead soon anyway. Might as well enjoy myself. Say, isn't this the part where you're supposed to tell me that all possibility of winning is hopeless and I should succumb to the dark side before it is too late and all that crap?"

Zariel scowled inwardly at the seer's lack of respect.

"Would you _like_ to know what is going to happen to you?"

'Why not?' thought Doyle. His brain, heart, stomach and various other bodily orifices immediately supplied a multitude of reasons.

"Typical, you are as ignorant as the many that came before you, too wrapped up in your own pathetic existence to appreciate – "

"Look," Doyle cut in, his tired, grief-laden mind having had just about enough of this weird old guy's obsessive speeches, "if you're going to sit there spouting rubbish about how unfair the world is and what nasty people the humans are and how we all must be destroyed then I've got news for you. I really don't care. Okay?"

Note: Add new word to dictionary: Doylecide – A very common situation where a certain man called Doyle decides that he's fed up with waiting around to be killed so he pisses off all the right people to get the whole bloody thing over with.

Doyle really seriously thought he'd done it that time. The old man's blank eyes darkened to a stormy grey, a crackling dark aura seeming to surround him. Rage flared like a living being around Zariel's thin form and Doyle felt cold sweat trickling down his mauled back, stinging the cuts left by Prarl's knife. Zariel lifted an arm and dark magic began to gather in his palm, crackling menacingly. However it was the smirk twisting the man's lips that made him the most nervous as the man's low, amused tone filtered through the magic-charged air.

"Would you _really_ like to know?"

* * *

Angel sprinted through the dark halls, cursing his limited vision that hampered his speed, willing his blurred feet to carry him faster. Blood trickled from a small cut above his left eye, only serving to enforce his feeling of urgency. Whatever sketchy outlines of a plan had been constructed along the way was now scrapped due to… current circumstances. Current circumstances being one grief-stricken, overpowering, possibly-insane and not to mention pissed off warlock.

Glancing further ahead, Angel's eyes narrowed and he muttered a stream of vicious Irish curses as he skidded to a halt right in the centre of a slightly larger space in the tunnel. Three other corridors branched off into the darkness and there was no sign of the angry whirlwind that had been Kaeden. Great, he thought sarcastically, trying to pick up a scent, unsuccessfully. Just _peachy._

"What's up?"

The vampire half turned as Oz slowed from his headlong dash to catch up with the vampire. The werewolf's eyes narrowed as he spotted the split in their route. Behind him, Cordy came rushing out of the darkness behind Oz, her hair falling messily around her flushed face as she struggled for breath.

"Do… you two have… ANY idea how… difficult it is to… run in these shoes?"

Angel winced as he caught sight of the thin-strapped high heels. He had often wondered how women could walk in those things, let alone run in them. That was Cordy for you, she would much rather be perfect than practical. Ah well, they would come in handy if they needed to, say, stab or possibly garrotte somebody. Angel turned his attention to the spiky-haired musician beside him.

"Hey Oz, can you get a scent? I tried but this place is like a damn rat run. There's got to be about fifty different trails."

The guitarist shook his head ruefully.

"Sorry man, even without all the tracks there's a heap of dark magic hanging around and giving me a headache. Plays havoc with the wolf."

Angel nodded, not surprised.

"Guess we're just going to have to trust in fate."

Oz quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Hey, not to meaning to sound depressing or anything but – "

"I know, I know."

Angel sighed and, pulling a knife from his belt, crouched, setting it flat on the ground.

"We're just going to have to do this the old fashioned way."

A skilful twist of his wrist sent the blade spinning, a blur of silver, slowing down to finally point directly to the path on their left. Angel shrugged, leaning forward to snatch the blade up, his dark eyes roving the path for any sign of danger.

"Left it is then. Cordy you stay in between me and Oz okay? Try and keep quiet."

Cordy huffed irritably, muttering something about men being control freaks but nevertheless did as she was told, wincing and hopping slightly as she rubbed the red marks on the backs of her heels. Maybe she ought to buy some trainers… she shook herself, shocked.

_Get a grip girl! Trainers indeed…I refuse to stoop so low._

Angel wanted to go faster but had to take the others into account. They couldn't leave Cordy all on her own and even if Oz had been able to keep up in normal circumstances he knew that the young wolf was still recovering from the first two fights. So he forced himself to check his impatient pace, using the extra time to scan the passage ahead. He couldn't see much light ahead so he reached up and wrenched a flaming torch out of the solid rock wall, brushing chipped stone off his black leather coat.

"Angel."

The vampire turned his head slightly to look back past a scared-looking Cordelia at the werewolf who had his crossbow in his hands and was peering uneasily past Angel at the space ahead of them.

"Yeah?"

"I can smell blood."

Angel frowned and concentrated on the air around them. His sense of smell was not as acute as the wolf's but he did have a flair for picking up blood (in more senses than one) and his eyes narrowed as he caught the bittersweet metallic tang of the liquid he fed off.

"It's quite old… can you tell where it's coming from?"

Oz walked up beside him, frowning mildly.

"I think it's coming from ahead of us. Can't really tell."

Angel nodded, "Only one way to find out. Watch your step."

The vampire set off confidently down the passage, holding the torch before him. Oz shrugged and followed. Cordelia rolled her eyes. _Men. _She hopped after them, tugging at the thin strap digging into her heel. Cordelia Chase could wear shoes that would have carved the feet of lesser women into slivers after a minute and still have soft skin. She could run a marathon in a pair of stilettos without having to go into hospital for severe surgical treatment on her feet (although she may have had to go in for lung and heart treatment). But even this was starting to grate on her nerves. Doyle had better be about to die or something.

Doyle… she sighed, all her worries about the jaunty Irishman coming back to her. She would never admit it but she really missed his silly joking manner and his stupid remarks and that cute blush he got whenever she hugged him. She sighed again, her fingers unconsciously reaching up to twine in her unkempt brown hair, twisting a strand around her fingers. Doyle was always fun to have around but… he seemed to act a little weird at times. Well, more weird than usual anyway.

He could be… almost secretive sometimes, as though there was something about him that he didn't want her to find out. Her mouth set in a determined line. Well, if that stupid seer thought he could keep secrets from her after having the nerve to go and get himself kidnapped and make her worry like this, not to mention ruin a pair of her favourite shoes, then he had another thing coming.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she walked right into Angel, bouncing off the vampire's back and falling backwards onto her rear. Angel turned to raise an eyebrow at her and she glared back.

"Cordy, I said to be quiet," he said a touch impatiently. She snorted, "Well excuse _me._ _I'm _not the one who stopped in the middle of the stupid corridor anyway!"

Angel sighed, starting to think that perhaps bringing Cordy had not been such a great idea after all. The actress in question was getting more bad tempered by the second.

"A little _help_ would be _nice_," she said pointedly.

Angel sighed again and reached down to help the disgruntled actress to her feet. She brushed dust off her clothes and turned to stare ahead of them, squinting into the gloom.

"Why'd we stop anyway?"

Angel jerked his head at the spiky haired werewolf who was standing a little further ahead, green eyes narrowed.

"Oz thought he smelt something or heard something or something."

"Well aren't we just Mr. Helpful today?"

"Yes, thank you Cordy."

Just then their attention was diverted by Oz's shout of, "_Get down!"_ before something streaked out of the darkness, heading straight towards Cordelia. Angel threw the actress roughly aside and was catapulted backwards several feet as the thing hit his shoulder.

Hissing in pain he sat up gingerly and inspected the long wooden spike embedded in his shoulder. He could feel cold blood seeping from the gash.

"Ow…"

Cordy sat up spitting dust but as she turned to yell at Angel she caught sight of the vampire's predicament and her eyes widened in horror.

"Oh my God! Angel, are you okay?"

Angel gripped the wood with one hand and tore it from his shoulder, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Bastards ripped my coat. I _like _this coat."

'_Oh God, I sound like Spike_,' Angel's eyes widened in horror.

"I've had worse Cordy, believe me."

He examined the weapon, noting how it had been cut as though by a knife to create the sharp tip.

"I'll get have to be careful I don't get one of these in the heart. Oz?"

"Here."

The werewolf hauled himself upright, brushing dust from his face. Casting around he picked up his crossbow and checked the weapon over while Angel got up and helped Cordy to her feet. Angel did his best to ignore the smell of blood as he stared back down the corridor, searching for any signs of movement.

"Whoever's there, show yourself!"

Oz shook his head.

"I can't hear anyone. I think this trap was rigged."

Angel looked back at him.

"What, automated?"

The werewolf nodded.

"So," Angel took a step forward, "was that the only one?"

Oz shrugged, lifted his crossbow and shot a bolt into the darkness. He just had time to throw himself out of harm's way as another spear shot out of the darkness, streaking down the passageway and out of sight.

"Apparently not."

Angel sighed.

"Oh this just keeps getting better and better."

Cordy made a small squeaking sound.

"Maybe it would just be better if we went back?"

The words had only just left the actress's mouth when there was a loud '_clang_' from behind them. Angel turned to see what appeared to be a solid iron portcullis wedged firmly into the rocky earth, blocking any hope of escape.

"Oh goody. Sorry Cordy, looks like we're stuck."

The actress groaned and hid behind Angel, peering distrustfully down into the shadowy hallway.

"This isn't funny."

Angel smiled wryly.

"I know what you mean. There's something about having great big wooden spears being chucked at me from random places that really puts a damper on my sense of humour."

"You have a sense of humour?"

"Ha ha Cordy."

Oz smiled as he listened to the pair bickering, reminding him of the gang back in Sunnydale when Buffy and Willow were teasing Xander or Giles.

"So, what's the plan?"

"Watch yourselves."

Oz and Cordy drew back as Angel flung the flaming torch ahead of them, another spike barely missing it as it landed in the earthy ground, revealing a rather disturbing sight. Cordelia's eyes widened. Oz whistled.

"So… I guess this was what Kaeden meant by spike pits, huh?"

Angel nodded grimly.

"Guess so. Well… at least that explains the blood…"

* * *

**Ahahaha! You must review to find out what happens! Next chapter, Angel and co. get into a little bit of a pickle, Doyle finds out what it is that Zariel (the evil old guy is actually after) and as for Kaeden… well… REVIEW! (see what I did there? Yeah, hm, clever… )**


	8. Thanks but no

**THERE IS A REASON I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN AGES! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! Okay I was going to update both my stories before Easter but saw fit to lock my account until two days after I was due to go skiing in the US and I only just got back and have been writing all night (it is now 2.50am where I am) to extend this chapter for you all so there is a decent bit of action in it. No Doyle I'm afraid and this is likely to drag on for another five or six chapters if I carry on at this rate, maybe more.**

**EAE: Ooo fun.**

**Leave me alone. Anyway I GOT OVER FORTY REVIEWS! ON MY FIRST EVER FIC! WAHOO! Ehem, now that I got that out of my system, on to some answers.**

**empath89:** You don't need a description? (Re-reads chapter) Er… well… er…

**Insane Troll Logic: **You know, I read through that last chapter and then a couple of chapters before it and thought, oh my God what am I writing? SO here is a nice big action scene for you. I'm sorry for feeding you guys crappy filler stuff, I guess I just haven't been feeling all that inspired lately. But now things are going to get interesting! Glad you liked that line, I remember that bit with Kendra now. That was funny! (EAE: You don't say…)

**ezrajade: **Yeah, probably not the best place to be right now and thanks for letting me know I'm keeping people in character, it's one of the things I'm paranoid about.

**jewel21: **I'm sorry! Really, I don't mean to be evil! (EAE: No, _I_ do) Doyle will be rescued eventually, however many bits he is in by the time they get there… did I say that? As for a kiss… well… if Doyle's a good boy and doesn't die (EAE: Hey, I'm the evil one here!) Heh heh, don't worry, we're getting there, slowly but surely. Worship? Aw… (blushes).

**YoshimiWolfspaw: **Yay a new reviewer! (EAE: Sorry, she does that a lot) Thank you and here is your update! Enjoy!

**And now, on to the main event! Hopefully this chapter will be a little less frustrating then the last few.  
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The torch light flickered at the top of a shallow slope which trailed down, the corridor walls branching away and widening into a sizeable chamber. At the far end there was a ledge that Angel estimated to be about two metres high, beyond which could be seen a large steel door, apparently shut firmly. More torches were attached to the wall, high out of reach, casting a sickly yellow stain over the chilling sight that met their eyes.

Spikes.

Enormous wooden spikes were fixed into the walls, floor and ceiling, the torchlight throwing their razor sharp tips into sharp relief. It was like an enormous thicket of thorns, each one at a different angle, ready to skewer anything that moved. In fact, it looked as though they already had. Several old, dried up skeletons were pinned to the wall, huge wooden shafts protruding from broken, empty ribcages. Others lay in bits around the floor as though carelessly scattered there and forgotten. And there were… not so old victims.

Cordy looked as though she was about to throw up. Angel, who was more used to this sort of thing, noticed that the top of the ledge was free of the spiky monstrosities and looked comparatively safe. Then again, most places would look safe compared to that heap. The fact that the projectiles were made of wood just served to unsettle the vampire even further, something that was doing nothing to improve his temper.

"Spikes!" Cordy wailed, "No one ever said anything about spikes! Did you hear anyone say anything about spikes?"

"Well actually – "

"My point exactly!"

Angel raised his eyes to the darkened ceiling.

"Cordy, no one forced you to come you know – "

"Oh don't start that with me, you know I had to come."

"Why?"

Cordelia, just for a split second seemed at a loss for words. And this was Cordelia we must remember.

"Because… someone had to make sure you didn't do something stupid because you're men and so you always dash headlong into dangerous situations without a thought for the consequences," she finished smugly. Angel rubbed his temples in irritation.

"Cordy – "

Oz took pity on the harassed vampire and cut in with his calm, quiet voice.

"Cordy, Doyle's running out of time and we're gonna need all the help we can get. Getting through this," he gestured at the spike pits, "is the only way we can get there in time. And besides, you may have a problem with forcing your way through an inch thick sheet of metal."

Cordy glanced behind her at the metal gate barring the way back, and she realised suddenly that, even if it hadn't been there, she would never have been able to go back anyway. Sighing, she glared at the two of them.

"Fine then, but I'm only doing this because _someone _has to keep you in line. Now," she turned and glared disapprovingly at the spikes, "someone please explain to me how we get through these."

Angel's dark eyes swept over the foreboding sight.

"Watch your step."

Without another word, he stepped carefully down the slope and into the razor-edged tangle. Oz followed and Cordelia couldn't help but notice the way he seemed to be almost prowling rather than walking, with fluid, predatory movements. She wondered how long it was until the next full moon. The last thing they needed was a rabid, psycho werewolf running around the place. She remembered all the chaos that had been caused before they found out it was actually Oz who was the werewolf, not some random guy that they could just kill and be done with. Somehow, these things always ended up being much more complicated than intended. She threw her head back in exasperation. Trust Willow to pick a werewolf for her first real boyfriend.

"Cordy look out!"

She vaguely registered something pushing her backwards and then she was lying flat on her face in the dust.

"Ow…"

She looked up, brushing dust off her face and out of her hair, only to freeze at the sight of Angel standing very still, an enormous wooden spike protruding from his chest.

"Oh my God, Angel!"

She leapt up only to be pushed unceremoniously back down by Oz, something whooshing over her head.

"Don't move," came Oz's quiet voice from above her, "quick movements seem to trigger some sort of release on those things. Keep your voice down, just in case." She sat up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements as instructed and turned her head slowly to where Angel, to her relief, still stood intact. Very slowly, the vampire raised a hand to the wood and, gritting his teeth, pulled it bit by bit out of his chest.

She stood up carefully and walked over to him, keeping a nervous eye on the spikes that now surrounded them.

"Are you okay?"

Angel grimaced, lowering the spike to the ground and sitting back on his heels, pressing his fingers to the wound on his chest. It felt the same as when Faith had shot him with that arrow, only now he didn't have the feeling of poison overwhelming and suffocating him. All in all, he had had worse. As usual.

"Fine."

He got carefully to his feet and looked back at the other two.

"You good?"

Both Oz and Cordy nodded.

"Good. Now I reckon we just need to stay quiet, watch where you put your feet and _don't touch anything_. As long as we don't run into… anything… else…"

He trailed off as his eyes finally caught sight of the figure that had appeared silently on the ledge they were trying to get to. A smirk was displayed clearly on the black-tattooed face as pale blue eyes sparkled in amusement. The smug look may have had something to do with the large crossbow cradled easily in the hunter's arms. The glinting silver tip of the arrow was pointing straight at Oz.

"Move and your pet wolf there is dead."

Oz was getting fed up with this guy. He was by most standards an extremely tolerant person but when he was standing in the middle of a pit full of projectile spikes being held at gun point or arrow point or whatever by a psychotic murderer who hated him for being what he was and using him against his own friends, it could get a little annoying. Not to mention he had the worst headache in all his history of dealing with vamps, demons and various other creepy stuff. So he was understandably compelled to reach behind him and tap one of the spikes that just so happened to be pointing straight at the deranged hunter. He then threw himself sideways as the spike, guided by the simple instructions it had had programmed into its very structure for so long, shot out of the rock.

Angel wasted no time, seeing Oz's action his lightning reflexes kicked in. In one leap he had grabbed Cordelia around the waist and hurled her bodily up onto the ledge, jumping up after her. Sacarven had dropped the crossbow in his haste to get out of the spike's way and was scrabbling to retrieve it. Angel was quicker, kicking the weapon off the ledge and stamping down hard on the wolf hunter's outstretched wrist. Sacarven twisted, hooking a leg around Angel's ankles, tripping the vampire and scrambling up and away. Angel flipped straight onto his feet and went after him, throwing a vicious punch at the man that Sacarven barely managed to block. Angel shifted his weight onto his back foot with flawless ease, leaning gracefully backwards and bringing his foot up to connect solidly with the hunter's rib cage. Sacarven was thrown back against the wall and slid down it to sprawl at the base of the stone. Angel strode forwards, intent on finishing the man off.

"Angel! Behind you!"

Angel had already begun to turn, his hand snapping around the outstretched wrist of a masked man, wrenching the stake out of his grasp. However, he had made a mistake in turning his back on Sacarven. The key to being a werewolf hunter was quick recovery and endurance. He had been beat up pretty badly many times but his incredible adrenalin reserve kept him alive in time to finish the fight. Without him dying. And he took advantage of every opening. Angel's vampire sense gave him enough warning for him to twist to one side, the result being that the spike Sacarven had retrieved from where it was stuck in the wall, only hit his side, smashing into his ribs, rather than plunging into his heart and sending him to pieces as it were.

Sacarven didn't pause but merely shoved harder, propelling Angel bodily off the ledge and down into the spikes below. Cordelia screamed as several of the nearest wooden spears shot up at the fast movement. Angel was equal to that though. Twisting gracefully in midair, he avoided each of them with ease. Landing catlike on all fours he got up slowly, glaring up at the ledge. At least twenty men stood up there, masked and clad in dark robes. A flash of fury swept through him as he caught sight of Cordy held firmly between two of them ("Let GO of me you weirdoes! I'm warning you, I have a nail file and I'm not afraid to… damn, I lost it…"). Sacarven swaggered slowly to the front, his eyes fixed mockingly on Angel.

"So vampire, are you ready to surrender or do we have to kill all your friends?"

Angel ignored him, looking around as Oz reached his side, rubbing a long cut on his arm. Angel shot him a questioning glance. He shrugged.

"Didn't move quick enough. Or moved too quickly. Whichever you prefer."

Angel saw the wolf's sharp green eyes flick up to the ledge, saw the spark of anger in them at the sight of Sacarven.

"That guy is starting to get annoying."

Angel smiled grimly, "Just starting?"

The werewolf hunter grinned down at the two; his white teeth gleaming in the torchlight, the feral expression on his face making him look far more like a bloodthirsty predator than any werewolf. Ironic really.

"Kill the vampire. The wolf's mine."

The men around him, except for the two holding a now struggling Cordelia, leapt unhesitatingly off the ledge and down into the spikes. Angel and Oz exchanged a look, shadowed black meeting sharp green. Then they moved. Angel tore a spike from the wall and hurled it at Sacarven, dodging two spikes and a minion in the process, backflipping over the man and hearing the familiar squishy thud of heavy wood hitting flesh. Oz ducked swiftly between two minions, the motion sensitive spike triggered by his actions hitting one in the shoulder. The other turned to be met with a crossbow bolt right between the eyes. He fell without a sound.

Angel grabbed a man by the throat, hurling him into another, their momentum sending both of them backwards into a spike, skewering them like a human kebab. Golden eyes flashing, his whirled around, his spinning kick slamming into a man's head with the force of a small delivery van going at fifty miles per hour. And when that force is concentrated into the surface area of approximately four square inches, applying it to the side of a human skull is definitely not healthy. Especially if it's _your_ skull. Oz covered his back, shooting men with calm, deadly precision. Angel was ploughing through the minions like a sledgehammer through tissue paper. He suddenly felt his wolf instincts flare and his eyes darted up to the ledge. Sacarven wasn't there.

"Angel where's th– "

He just saw something flash in front of his eyes before he felt lightning fast hands slipping something around his neck. He ducked and pulled away on instinct and nothing seemed to be stopping him… but something was wrong. He felt… drowsy suddenly, his limbs feeling as though they had been filled with lead. His vision blurred and he stumbled forward.

Angel whipped around at Cordy's cry of dismay, in time to see Sacarven grab Oz by the throat. The werewolf looked dazed and he didn't seem to be struggling. Angel's sharp eyes picked out something hanging around Oz's neck and identified it almost immediately as the silver medallion that Sacarven had been wearing. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be doing Oz much good. He snarled, throwing another man away from him with a single sweep of his arm. He had had just about enough of this.

Oz twisted weakly in the hunter's tenacious grip, his eyelids feeling suddenly very heavy, the breath catching in his lungs. All of his energy seemed to be slipping gently away, leaving him with a strange drifting feeling. The clear part of his brain, deep within that centre of his mind that no one could touch, was screaming at him to get up, not to give in, not to fall asleep. He made one last futile effort at keeping his eyes open.

Willow…

The hunter smirked in satisfaction as the young wolf fell motionless, his breathing shallow and his eyes closed. He had been right to take extra care with this one, he had resisted the amulet's devastating power for much longer than he had expected. For a young wolf he seemed to have more influence over the creature than most of the others. Perhaps, if this one had been allowed to live, he might have learned to control the hellbeast. Such a shame he wouldn't be.

He pulled out his favourite silver dagger, the very same one that he had used to kill the black wolf of Siberia. He chuckled quietly to himself as he remembered that this was the exact same way he had killed that monster too. Ah well; might as well do it properly. He raised the dagger, just in time to catch a reflection of gold eyes and black leather in the gleaming blade. Curse that damned vampire! Always spoiling his fun!

He swiftly dropped the wolf, jumping backward, letting out a startled yelp as the vampire whirled around with the speed of a bullet, easily dodging two flying spikes. Leaping forward with a growl, Angel knocked the dagger from the hunter's grip. Sacarven responded just as quickly, burying the silver claws of his fighting gloves deeply into the vampire's chest. This obviously didn't have the same devastating effect as it did of a werewolf, but even Angel could not ignore four sharp pieces of metal being shoved forcefully into his ribcage.

Cordelia forced herself to stay calm and not to brush any of the spikes by accident as she half-walked, half-ran over to where Oz lay motionless. Dropping to her knees she looked worriedly at him. His breathing was shallow and sounded painful, his skin even paler than usual, throwing the many ugly bruises along his head and jaw into sharp relief. She hadn't seen what the hunter had done to him and she couldn't see if he was bleeding or injured anywhere. She panicked as his breathing began to slow even more.

"Angel!"

The vampire heard Cordy's shout through a haze of bloodlust but he ignored the shout for the time being, focusing on the fight. Sacarven had snatched up a broken piece of wood and alternated punching and stabbing at the vampire. Angel parried each blow with practised ease, neither of them giving the other an opening. Worry for Oz lurked in his subconscious, he didn't know what that amulet did to a werewolf but he had seen the glazed look on his friend's face, how quickly it had floored the tough young wolf. He would never be able to forgive himself if Oz died because he had been dragged into all of this.

Cordy looked around helplessly. She had no idea how to help Oz and Angel was preoccupied with fighting off that disgusting hunter. She had to do something. But what?

Sacarven punched Angel in the face, jumping swiftly out of the way so that Angel was forced to avoid the spike that came flying at him. This gave the hunter time to get behind him. Angel felt the stake beginning to pierce the flesh in his back and leapt forwards a nanosecond before the wood pierced his heart. Unfortunately he didn't see the second spike. A horrible pain flared in his left leg as the huge wooden spear hit home. He stumbled and fell awkwardly, reaching blindly behind him and managing to grab Sacarven's wrist. The wolf hunter, scenting victory in the air, brought a leather boot down hard on Angel's injured shoulder, breaking the vampire's shaky grip on his arm. Angel knew he wouldn't be able to get up in time. He closed his eyes and waited for the final blow, wondering whether Buffy would find out. Whether she would be sad…

He was snapped sharply back to reality by the sound of something heavy falling to the ground accompanied by the tangy, metallic smell of freshly spilled blood. His eyes snapped open and he pushed himself upright, ignoring the pain coursing through his shoulder and leg.

Sacarven lay face-up on the dusty ground, a large crossbow bolt buried in his chest, the end still quivering. Already a pool of dark, crimson liquid was spreading steadily from underneath him, staining the dust. There was a small squeaking noise behind him as Cordy dropped the crossbow, the very same one the hunter had used to threaten them with about five minutes ago.

"I killed him…"

Angel, ignoring the werewolf hunter's remains, walked carefully over to her. Most of the spikes was scattered haphazardly around the floor, shattered and splintered amid the wreckage of dead bodies and churned up earth. Without them sticking menacingly from the walls, the place looked flat and bleak, the scent of blood heavy and fear heavy in the musty air.

"Thanks Cordy."

She seemed to snap out of her momentary daze to fall back into full panic mode.

"Did you see what he did to Oz? I can't tell if he's injured or not and I don't think he's breathing and I totally forgot everything we learned about first aid in high school, not that any of it would help us most of the time unless it was telling us not to let weird men with severe skin problems into our houses at night but I always thought that went without saying – "

The vampire placed a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder.

"Cordy, calm down."

She nodded, breathing deeply.

"It's okay, I'm okay. Oz is still kinda not breathing though. That's… not okay, is it?"

He brushed hurriedly past her to kneel beside the comatose werewolf, snapping the leather string holding the medallion around his neck and pulling it swiftly away. The thing reeked of dark magic, Angel threw it distastefully to one side. He quickly pressed two fingers to the side of Oz's now bruised throat, breathing a soft sigh of relief when he found a pulse, admittedly weaker than it should be, but steady. However it didn't look as though he would be coming around any time soon, which, in Cordy's words was 'not okay.' They needed to press on if what Kaeden had said was anything to go by. If this ritual thing or whatever was tonight then Angel didn't know how much time Doyle had left and he did not like not knowing what was going on, especially when it concerned his friends.

As if in concurrence to his thoughts, a horrible, spine-chilling noise, faint but somehow unbearably clear, echoed from the passageway towards which they had been fighting, bouncing unpleasantly off the stone walls.

A scream.

Cordelia's head snapped up at the sound, her eyes wide.

"Oh my God… Angel that was him! That was Doyle!"

Angel frowned at her, trying to suppress the fear bubbling up inside his own chest. He had to stay calm, he had to focus.

"We don't know that Cordy, it might not be – "

"That was him, I know it!"

Without another word she leapt to her feet and scrambled up onto the ledge, dashing full pelt into the blackness, Angel's urgent shouts echoing dismally behind her. She had to find him, she just had to! He had sounded so terrified, so full of pain, in agony almost… oh God Doyle please be okay, she thought desperately. She raced along, all thoughts of her sore feet, the man she had just killed, the fight that had taken place, all pushed out of her head to be replaced with a terrifying image of Doyle, alone and scared, dying in some dark cave somewhere, thinking that she thought he was stupid. She _had _to find him…

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**  
Okay, before you all yell at me I just want to tell you that adding to fight scenes and trying to think up a decent ending at 2.45am is not fun. REVIEW and a (belated) HAPPY EASTER to everybody (throws random Easter eggs). I'm going to go away now before I collapse. R&Rrrzzzzzzzzzzz…**

**EAE: **You know the drill. (drags Shikani away)


	9. The Nitty Gritty

**I think my writing skills are slowly deteriorating. Okay, this is a pathetic excuse for a chapter but I wrote it whilst I had horrible writer's block. I need some inspiration really. If I have a sudden wave of ideas I will go back and rewrite it and I will let you know if I do. I'm really sorry I haven't updated in so long but a culmination of various personal issues has meant that writing wasn't exactly my top priority. However, I am back and hope to stay back. I ask you all to bear with me. This is the nitty gritty of the whole lot and it's all Doyle anyway, so sorry for neglecting him!**

**empath28: **I know, she is being a tad thick isn't she? Ah well, hopefully I'll pull my plot together and write you a decent chapter. Thanks for reviewing, I dunno where I would be without you guys. Well, yeah I do I'd be even more depressed than I am now… (sniff)

**Insane Troll Logic: **Yay my favourite reviewer… well, not favourite 'cos that would be discriminating but definitely one of my favourite reviewers. Not that I have favourites of course… I'll shut up now. Glad you liked last chapter, sorry about this one. I really really will get onto the interesting bits but this one is essential. I'm just feeling very lousy. And SHH! Stop giving the plot away! Well… partly… maybe… my head hurts.

**claire**: Glad you like it! I'm on a bad trail at the moment but please stick with it! It shall recover!

**jewel21: **Thought I'd lost ya! I enjoyed writing the last chappie, not sure 'bout this one. I need your advice! Help me please! Yes, a lot of people are ranting about Cordy… well love can make you do stupid things can't it? As can jealousy, hatred and pretty much every other emotion. Or she could just be stupid… meh, whatever.

**m3:** Sorry about the late update, glad you like it and here's a whole lot of Doyle for ya. Enjoy as much as possible, circumstances allowing.

**If I missed anyone (which is entirely possible in my current state) then I apologise profusely. I love all my reviewers and would never purposefully neglect you. I just need someone to hit me over the head on occasions. Oh and just to let you know, all this crap takes place while Oz, Angel and Cordy are running around various underground passageways. So you'll have to wind back time --; Try not to scream too loud okay? (sniffle) I need a hug… (sniffle)**

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"Our cult," Zariel began, the magic still crackling ominously in his palm, "was formed many millenia ago, before the true demons were banished from the earth. The power that these witches and warlocks held is something you could never begin to comprehend. This was old magic, pure magic, not the filtered magic we extract from the earth and the surrounding matter, but magic in its own, young essence. Fierce battles were fought between these early humans and the true demons. In those days a single blast could carve a ravine in the face of the earth."

The old man spoke with a manic gleam in his cold blank eyes, a gleam that made the hairs of both Doyle's human and demon side prickle.

"Eventually the two sides had been whittled down until a bare fragment of the original cult was left alive and there was only one demon left. However, this demon was the most powerful of all of them. The leaders of the cult, the wise ones, knew that they would never be able to defeat the demon without further help. So," Zariel turned to Doyle, a strange expression on his face, "they sent out a call to powers beyond the earthly realms, to the High Ones, the ones that you, I believe, more commonly refer to as, the Powers."

_This can't be going anywhere good. He's got that 'it's all your fault and even if it's not it is now' look on his face. Cordy does it better than him though._

"And they sent an embassy to answer the call."

A slow suspicion that had begun to eat away at Doyle's mind took a _really _big bite. And it was painful. He remained silent however, curious despite himself. Zariel seemed lost in his own little world which was fine as far as Doyle was concerned.

_Just as long as they don't knock me out again. That's really starting to getting annoying._

"This man came to us, claiming that he had been sent by the powers to deliver the key to our victory. And do you know something?" Doyle had a feeling that this was a particular something he didn't really want to know. "He was a seer."

_Oh whoopee. Can't tell where _this _is going._

"He had something in his possession, the warlocks' combined power paled in comparison."

Zariel raised his hand and a misty image swam into being in the darkened stone room. A long gleaming shaft of wood with a shining silver and crimson blade at one end and a vicious pointed stake fixed into the other. It hung in suspended animation, roataing slowly as Doyle took in the shape in all its horrific glory. The blade was solid, double edged and razor sharp, made solely for the purpose it had been set. To kill.

Even though it was merely a projection, Doyle's demon side recoiled at the very sight of this weapon, every demonic fibre of his being warning him away. Doyle stared at the object with a mixture of awe and fear. Zariel was watching the conjured light play across the blade with a sort of dazed intensity.

"So much raw magic, you could practically _taste_ it," he whispered, a fanatical glint in his eyes, "Even these pitiful mortals we live among today would be able to at least catch an inkling of this masterpiece's capabilities. Understandably intoxicated by this awesome power assuring them of victory, the elders rushed into battle against the demon, unaware of the terrible danger."

He looked back up at Doyle and there was a passion of burning hatred in his eyes mingled with a hollowness that no light could ever fill.

"What the seer failed to _mention_ was that the weapon could only be wielded by the Chosen one," Zariel spat venomously, his eyes narrowed into gleaming slits of malice, "the result being that when the wise ones attempted to summon the weapon's power to their aid the power reacted violently, killing its holder and then sealed itself. They were left, one more down, at the mercy of the only true demon left on their plane of existence."

The bitterness in the old man's voice was palpable, his voice cracking slightly, whether from sorrow or anger the seer couldn't tell. This man's mind had broken a long time ago but no one had picked up the pieces.

"They managed to subdue the demon with their own powers but were killed in doing so. Their leader, mortally wounded, took that cursed thing," he threw out a hand violently, a bolt of energy shattering the image of the weapon into glittering fragments, "and hacked the demon's head from its shoulders. Then he died. And those _bastards_," he snarled, directing his blank eyes to the dark ceiling as though trying to pierce his enemies with his furious gaze, "did absolutely _nothing _to help them!"

The surrounding air hissed like a living thing, the black magic emanating from the ancient warlock causing Doyle's eyes to water. Two jet black orbs met his gaze, set in the pale, wrinkled old skin.

"I am the sole survivor of our entire dynasty. I alone survived all the ages, spending almost my entire life using my powers to shift between dimensions, waiting in a slower time, watching as time rushed by in this dimension, waiting for the perfect moment. And it came." He grinned, "The world became an ignorant and detached place, where

The suspicion that had previously been gnawing was now picking its teeth.

"You want to destroy the powers."

The old man smirked.

"Give the man a medal. It seems there's hope for you yet. Though," his smirk widened, rotten teeth bared eerily, "not for long."

Doyle narrowed his eyes, "Look, I hate to rain on your parade but in case you hadn't noticed, they are the Powers, as in _higher beings_. They could squish you like a bug. You can't destroy them, that sort of power doesn't exist anymore, you said so yourself."

Zariel shook his head, eyes glimmering in malicious amusement.

"Ah, the irony. It's _you_, my friend. You and your line are what have made this whole thing possible."

The blank look on Doyle's face spoke for him. Zariel chuckled again.

"Perhaps you remember Brankata?"

Doyle raised an eyebrow. _Ehhh?_

"Perhaps not. Allow me to refresh your memory."

A gleaming black knife speckled into being, another shimmering mirage of magic particles. The sight was horribly familiar and Doyle's mind was thrown back to the time when this particular little artifact had been shoved into his heart. He shivered. Zariel was watching the changing expressions on his face with an amused air.

"Unpleasant memories my friend?"

Doyle clenched his fists, "You're not my friend," he said flatly, defiantly meeting the ancient warlock's stare, "But I really, _really _hope you meet one of them sometime."

_The one with pointy fangs and a disturbing fixation with black leather._

Zariel, far from looking threatened, had a sinister smirk around his eyes as though he knew something the seer didn't. Doyle felt an uneasy feeling sinking to the bottom of his stomach. If his friends had come… then where were they? He tried to reassure himself. It was Angel for crying out loud. Still…

"Brankata," Zariel continued, as though Doyle had not spoken, "Is the blade that belonged to our leader. The powers cast a spell over it so that our leader would be unable to harm their seer with it."

Doyle glared, "So stabbing me with that thing was just your idea of an identity check? What is it with you people and your creepy occultish ID systems? Why not just invent some sort of cosmic passport, one which doesn't involve knives, blood or any other particularly painful activity? The humans managed it, why can't you?"

Zariel smirked at the irate seer, serenely ignoring his tirade.

"And now, we have less than an hour before the ritual begins. You see, today is a very special day."

"Let me guess," said Doyle sardonically, "this just so _happens_ to be the exact day that your dear leader died all those years ago?"

Zariel raised an eyebrow.

"Did you See that with your inner eye?"

"No, I just watch a lot of television."

"Of course."

Zariel smiled ominously at the seer.

"Well, as pleasant as it has been talking to you, I think it's time to get down to business."

The last thing Doyle saw was a wave of black energy. Then pretty much everything was black. Funny thing about black. Can't see a damned thing…

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**(wince) I know, I know, please don't kill me! Like I said this is probably going to be rewritten as it is only a measly one thousand something hundred words long at the moment. BUT THE INFORMATION IS IMPORTANT. Urgh, I hate my life at the moment. Please review and give me pointers on how to improve this chappie to make it more interesting and please point out any glaringly obvious plot holes! I should have had a beta really but it's a bit late for that now. (Sigh) Anywho, read, review, please try not to kill me. Pretty please? Kaeden should make an appearance soon… I think… I need to rewrite my plot structure… (wanders off in a random direction)**


	10. Maze Cheat

**I'm sorry this took so long. From now on updates will be less frequent as I have exams coming up and I need to do the whole revision crap. In addition to that I still have CRAPPY DAMN WRITER'S BLOCK which is just a little irritating at the moment. However, I fully intend to finish this story though it'll probably have more chapters than I planned. Meh, whatever. Anyway the main thing is I AM BACK!**

**empath89: Numbers? Which numbers? (frantic) There were numbers? (breaks down in tears) I hate numbers… This chapter is longer by a few hundred words or so… I think…  
**

**Claire: Wow… really? Yeah I liked that line. Couldn't resist.**

**Ka-mia: Yep, spot on. It was the scythe. I always wondered where the thing was from so I made it a history. I'll try not to be so depressing from now on.**

**m3: Your favourite character is Doyle? Really! Gosh I couldn't tell! (that was my sarcastic voice btw) He shall be back (probably next chapter) still has a BIG part to play.**

**Insane Troll Logic: Okay I won't. Can't say the same for some of my characters though…**

**jewel21: You are too nice to me. Hopefully the writer's block will go away soon but it does mean shorter chapters. However, I shall prevail!**

**nin: (blush mumbles) It's not that great… As for the Mishka Doyle healing thing… well, maybe it will have a side effect, maybe it won't (I have everything planned out) I'm trying to keep my writing unpredictable so hopefully I'll still have a good few surprises in store for you all (smirks) you'll just have to wait and see.**

**Malakhim: Yeah I have a bad habit of throwing in lines that completely destroy the atmosphere. (sigh) I also enjoy torturing/humiliating/murdering my characters. It's a hobby. Thank you very much for the compliments. I would never have been able to continue this without my reviewers' support. **

**ANYONE WANTING TO SUE ME CAN GO BACK AND READ THE DISCLAIMER ON THE FIRST CHAPTER! LIKE I'D BE WRITING FANFICTION IF I OWNED THE BLOODY SERIES! Now I've got that out of my system... let the chapter begin! Well… the line first. Then the chapter.**

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(See? The line! I'll go away now...)**

"Cordy! Get back here!"

Angel cursed viciously in several different languages. The pronunciation was actually pretty impressive, considering some of those words were used by creatures that ate through their ears and possessed no recognisable respiratory system.

"God dammit," he looked around helplessly, his eyes falling back to the unconscious werewolf at his feet. He couldn't just leave Oz here undefended, but at the same time he couldn't let Cordy rush off on her own. If he carried Oz with him it would merely make him an easy target if they ran into any enemies. He could not defend himself and Oz at the same time. He looked back up at the passage Cordelia had taken in her anxiety for her dear friend.

It was unlikely that any other enemies would be coming through here, especially if this ritual thing Kaeden had been harping on about was happening tonight. Most likely all the bugs would be clustering around the centre of their hive, waiting for the action to start he thought grimly. And then of course, there was Kaeden himself. Angel suppressed a mental shiver as he remembered the expression on the warlock's face before he had taken off surrounded by dark magic so powerful that they had been physically unable to pursue him for at least two minutes.

"Oh screw it."

He took off after Cordelia.

Cordelia's breath rasped harshly in her throat, her lungs burning, eyes stinging. She willed herself to keep on running. That scream she had heard was playing through her mind again and again, the terror and pain behind it making her feel sick. God, if he was hurt or… no! She shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed.

_Not dead. Not dead. Not dead._

He couldn't be. She still hadn't said –

Her frantic thoughts were rudely disrupted as she ran headlong into something. The something grabbed her throat.

"You know, little girls shouldn't run around with their eyes closed," an amused voice hissed into her ear, making her skin crawl, "they could hurt themselves." She glared defiantly up at her captor as best she could. Her eyes widened as she recognised the warlock who had attacked with the creepy hunter guy the first time around.

"You!"

"No, really?"

She hissed and twisted in his grasp.

"Get your slimy hands off me! Where's Doyle? What did you do to him?"

Prarl smirked. "Whatever makes you think we've done something to him?"

"Uh, duh, you're evil! And I heard him! Where is he!"

The warlock's features twisted into a hideous parody of pity and sadness. "Oh I'm so sorry. I forgot to mention to you all last time we met, I have this really irritating quirk of spontaneously screaming in other people's voices for no apparent reason."

Cordelia's heart plummeted, "You…" Prarl tutted, lifting her chin with a finger, "Oh no, don't you go crying, you'll ruin your pretty eyes." She glared at him, eyes flashing, "Get. Off. Me."

"ARGH!"

Prarl dropped the girl, staggering backwards in agony. He glared up at her.

"Bitch!"

Cordelia winced, flexing her toes as she straightened up. The high heels had come in handy after all.

"Tell me where he is or the next one will be higher," she threatened. Prarl sneered maliciously at the young actress. "Even if I did tell you where he was, there is nothing you can do to stop us now. The main phase of the ritual commences in less than an hour. You'll never make it in time."

"You know you can tell you're not the main evil."

"What?"

"The head honcho. The CEO of the evil scheme."

"What are you on about?"

"It's your evil speeches that give it away. You keep saying, 'WE will succeed' and 'you cannot stop US.' The main evil guy always says 'you cannot stop ME' and 'I am invincible' you know? They're the most egocentric, self-obsessed – " Prarl stared incredulously as the girl rambled on, talking animatedly about the various attributes of 'proper' bad guys.

_And these people accuse _us _of insanity?_

" – and they NEVER have hair that greasy if they're serious and – "

A dark shape hurtled out of the shadows, tackling a rather confused warlock and throwing him bodily away from Cordelia. Prarl landed hard on his back and sat up, glaring at his assailant. Angel flashed sharp fangs in a smirk.

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

"… I hate you."

"Nice to know I'm doing something right."

Cordelia huffed indignantly, "You took your own sweet time getting here! I had to think up a clever and subtle way of stalling for time until you caught up."

Angel turned to stare hard at her. "Yeah well I figured it wasn't the greatest idea to dash headlong into a situation, not to mention leaving a friend behind when he is _injured _and_ unconscious_."

Cordy hung her head guiltily, scuffing the floor with her battered shoes.

"Well… yeah… but I heard the scream… and… well…"

"As interesting as it is listening to you two chit chat," Prarl gathered a swirling ball of dark magic in his palm, "I have better places to be."

Angel shifted into a casual fighting stance. "Yeah I was planning on sending you to a better place. Well… a different one anyway."

"Don't make me laugh vampire."

"Oh you won't be."

Angel lunged. Prarl, anticipating the attack, swiftly sidestepped, bringing his magic-enwreathed arm sweeping down towards the vampire's shoulder. Angel ducked under the blow with ease, bringing his fist up with lightning speed. Only a hasty step backwards prevented the vampire's fist separating his head completely from his shoulders. As it was, the knuckles clipped his chin, snapping his head backwards and lifting him about a metre into the air. He snarled, flinging a disc of dark energy at the vampire's head.

Angel backflipped, allowing the attack to graze harmlessly under him. He landed in a catlike crouch before springing into an attack, using the wall behind him as leverage, leaping up and slamming a kick at the side of Prarl's head. The warlock conjured a flickering shield into existence, Angel's foot slamming into the magical resistance. He hissed. His foot was stuck. Prarl smirked, tendrils of spitting energy winding around the struggling vampire, pinioning him in midair.

"Gotcha."

He easily threw Cordelia back as she tried to rush to her friend's aid. Angel twisted in the tenacious trap, still held in midair. Prarl held up his hand.

"I'm going to crush you like the pitiful insect you are."

"I hardly think you are in a position to be calling anyone pitiful."

Prarl didn't have time to turn before the huge blast of dark magic hit him. He somehow managed to pull us his shield, but even so he was thrown a good thirty metres down the dark passageway. Cordelia stared, dumbstruck. Angel got slowly to his feet and turned already knowing what he would see.

Wreathed in dark violet flames, strands of dark magic crackling around him like disjointed lightning, two obsidian orbs blazing dark rage. Cordy gulped. Well… that was one of them found anyway. Prarl stood up slowly, wiping a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Kaeden."

The rogue warlock's eyes were fixed on the eel-like man's face as though he could see something else there. Something very small and slimy. A leech. A leech that had sucked the life out of his baby sister. A bead of sweat rolled down the slimy warlcok's forehead, trembling in a bulbous droplet at the end of his nose. The light from the aura lashing around Kaeden caused light to curve across the inky black orbs, his eyes seeming to glow with a demonic light. Prarl watched his former ally with wary eyes, black magic flaming up his own arms.

"Are you going to try and stop us?"

Kaeden seemed to consider the question.

"No."

Angel tensed. Prarl he could probably deal with. Kaeden on the other hand… he had seen pissed off warlocks before. Admittedly they weren't as bad as pissed off witches but still…

"I'm not going to try. I'm going to succeed."

Angel breathed a soft sigh of relief. Prarl backed away slightly, eyes narrowed, sweat dripping down his face.

"You'll never find them," his voice was trembling slightly, "the chamber hall is in the middle of the maze. You can never – "

He was cut off as Kaeden raised an arm, a horrible amount of deadly magic lashing itself around his fist.

"The middle of the maze eh?"

Without warning, he flung out his arm. Stone shattered. Angel flung himself in front of Cordy, protecting her with his body, wincing as sharp chips of rock slashed through his skin. Kaeden smirked.

"I'll cheat."

Angel looked up and his eyes widened. The magic had blasted clear through the rock, creating a pitch black passageway, dust still showering from the newly cut rock. It didn't look too stable. Kaeden turned his head to look at Angel.

"That should take you to the party. Go get your friend."

Angel returned the gaze with narrowed eyes.

"What about you?"

Dark eyes shone with a sick kind of joy as they fastened back on the now quivering Prarl.

"I'll clear up the mess."

Angel nodded wordlessly. Standing in one fluid movement, he reached down and pulled Cordelia to her feet.

"Let's go."

Cordelia nodded silently, following the vampire into the dark tunnel, holding tight onto his arm, blindly following as the vampire's keen night vision guided them through the stuffy atmosphere of dust and scorched earth.

Both of them heard Prarl's scream. Neither spoke.

* * *

**Fear not Doyle fans, he will be in the next chapter! But I need reviews! I need inspiration! I need a drink... excuse me (wanders off muttering)**


	11. Aww damn

Hey… it's been a whi – ARGH! (gets pounded into dust by reviewers) er… eheh, I know I haven't updated in (checks when last updated) holy crap… Oh forget it. I'M SORRY! HERE IS YOUR CHAPTER! Oh and let me know if the standard of writing is dropping. Inspiration is running a little thin I'm afraid. BUT I WILL FINISH IT. PROMISE.

Insane Troll Logic: I READ YOUR STORY AND IT RULES. This chapter is longer and (evil grin) it's eeeeeeeeeeevil. I think… and don't worry about Oz. Everything will be juuuuuuust fine… (evil cackle)

Claire: Here you go. Enjoy and I'm glad you like the humour.

empath89: AHH! Oh I'm sorry! I've been concentrating on getting it right all this time! GAAAH! Argh, that's what happens when I try to update at three o'clock in the morning (EAE: Like you're doing now --;) won't do it again and really sorry for the wait. I'm terrible (sniffs, ashamed).

Jewel21: You're gonna kill me for not updating for ages aren't you? Well, I'll just pray this chapter will restraint your anger for long enough for me to leg it… ah never mind. Yeah, the Cordelia bit was just a random moment on my part, but I really couldn't resist. Enjoy! And don't worry about Oz, EAE wants to kill him but… well I dunno…

Pwrhungryjr: Interesting name. You really mean it? I don't think I'm that great… I've just got a weird sense of humour. Oh well, thank you anyway, I feel all happy and fuzzy! (EAE: You did NOT just say that…)

MysticWolf1: Not a big fan? Then, if you don't mind me asking, how did you find this story? I would have thought people wouldn't read it unless they were big Doyle fans… oh well, it's nice to know my writing's not a complete loss. Thanks very much for reading, I love it when I can pull people into a story and keep them interested. Here's another chapter and please keep reading!

Claire: You stayed around this long. Well then, what can I say… here's your chapter and you are amazing THANK YOU!

Honestly, where would I be without you guys? That was a rhetorical question! (EAE: whistles innocently)

Well… sorry for the wait and here ya go.

* * *

Doyle awoke to the sound of… well he didn't really know. He knew he was awake and he knew that whatever that sound was it was giving him one hell of a blasted headache. Or… wait… no the _bruises_ had given him the headache… but that damn noise wasn't really helping much. He had half a mind to yell at whatever it was to shut up, but when he tried speaking, he found that, for some strange reason, his vocal cords had been replaced with so much dry sandpaper. All that came out was a rasping croak.

Oh not this again.

He concentrated on the noise that was irritating him so much. It was a low sort of rumbling. Further investigation led to the discovery that it was in fact chanting. Many voices were chanting together, deep, dark words that were impossible to define and translate. What a way to put someone at ease.

Suddenly a vile smell assailed his nostrils, stabbing painfully up into his brain, kicking his senses into action. His head jerked automatically away, eyes shooting open and everything was thrown into a rather unpleasant clarity. The Nutcase, as Doyle had dubbed Zariel (his reasoning had gone something along the lines of: "well it contains the same number of syllables and it suits him better anyway") was standing right in front of him, holding something under his nose. Apparently that was what had woken him. He glared. Zariel laughed. Doyle couldn't really blame him, after all, his face probably resembled something close to a badly beaten up avocado.

"Nice to see you awake."

"Then why the hell do you keep knocking me out?"

Zariel smiled indulgently, his blank eyes crinkling at the ages and making him look even more like a chipped old chalk statue. Except, Doyle thought gloomily, any chalk statues he had encountered over the years, if any, he was sure would be much more considerate towards other people's state of health.

"Look around you seer, this will be the last sight you will ever see."

"Whoop-dee-doo," muttered Doyle sarcastically. A slight itch had started in his back, causing him to squirm slightly, uncomfortable. Typical, he was allergic to that damn ritualistic paint they had put all over him. He was probably developing a nasty rash. A part of his mind was screaming that he was about to die. The rest of it was staring blankly at the first bit with a "tell me something I don't know" expression. Zariel smirked at him before turning with a swish of dark material, giving Doyle a clear view of his surroundings. A wide stone chamber was spread out before him, the walls hidden back in shadow. He appeared to be chained to a wooden stake in the centre of a raised marble dias, the torch light casting strange flickering shapes over the dark stone.

Weird symbols, demonic naturally, were carved all across the flat circular plateau of the dias. He closed his eyes again, gritting his teeth against the pain in his head. That damn chanting still hadn't stopped. He could only assume that Nutcase's followers were standing in the shadows around the room as he couldn't see them. Now he watched as Zariel stepped down to where a stone plinth stood, made of the same black marble as the dias. He then did a double take.

On the plinth, the black knife Zariel had stabbed him with at their first meeting (didn't THAT bring back fond memories), was standing unsupported, the very tip of the blade only just touching the dark stone, perfectly upright and balanced. In the meagre light, the two black objects melded together in shadow, looking almost like one whole. Doyle glared. Was everything in this damn room engaged in a constant and violent argument with reality? It wouldn't have been so bad if they weren't actually _winning_.

"Loyal ones of the long forgotten clan," Zariel spoke in a low hollow tone, the sound resonating throughout the chamber. At his words, the chanting died away instantly. He waited a moment before continuing. "Long we have waited for this glorious moment, the moment in which we may avenge the wrongs done to us, to finally put our restless ancestors at peace. Brothers! That moment has now come."

A low murmur that sounded like a prayer answered this proclamation. Doyle watched the proceedings while wondering at how "great leader's" speeches really hadn't changed over the years. Maybe, he mused, there was a database somewhere containing a selection of speeches for all different occasions. Just as there were for after dinner speeched and pleasantries, perhaps there was a whole "evil speeches for all occasions archive somewhere. Then one could simply reserve one and… Doyle groaned. He could feel a headache developing.

"The ending of the ritual has now come!"

Doyle tensed as Zariel turned to face him, his eyes melding to deep black. The old warlock raised his hands, forming a strange symbol in the air.

"Now…"

Doyle suddenly jerked in pain. The marks painted on his chest, back, arms and face were suddenly stinging, no, burning, sharp stabbing pains coursing through him. The chanting began again, louder, more vehement, the sounds reverberating all around him, leaking in through his ears, bouncing around inside his skull. He gasped in pain, trying to curl in on himself, the heavy restraints holding him back, the pain escalating horribly in time with that malignant chanting.

He felt something strange, something alien inside him, a force that seemed to be shoving his own will aside, curling itself around his consciousness, his limbs jerking erratically. It was almost as though something was growing inside him, tearing through him to get out. And bloody hell it hurt. He lurched forwards in his bonds, coughing violently, blood dripping from his mouth. He wanted to fall away into sweet oblivion, allow sleep to take him away from this place. But if he did… he had a strong suspicion that he might not find his way back.

_Cordy… Never did tell her… Always putting things off until the last minute… bad habit… that…_

He felt himself slipping, darkness clawing its way underneath his eyelids, tugging them down, his vision blurring…

"STOP IT!"

Doyle's head snapped up at the scream, his eyes wide. The chanting had ceased abruptly as all eyes turned towards the source of the scream. Standing, white faced, trembling, covered in grime from head to toe, stood none other than Cordelia Chase, glaring at Zariel as though he had just told her she had put on weight since he last saw her. Even though he had never seen her before so that was technically impossible. But I digress.

The cult leader blinked, nonplussed at the livid young woman.

"And… you are?"

Cordelia's expression turned, if possible, even more murderous. She advanced menacingly across the stone floor, her high heels clicking like the rap of bone on rock.

"Hold it," Zariel held up a hand, "you wouldn't want _him_ to get hurt." He gestured over his shoulder at the limp form of none other than Doyle who was tied fast to some strange engraved stone pillary thing, in front of which stood a knife impossibly suspended in the air on its point. The whole thing screamed "ritual sacrifice" to Cordelia. Cordelia could scream louder. And scream she bloody would.

"Let him go!" Doyle was in a horrible state, she could tell even from so far away. Blood was dribbling down his cheek and leg, cuts running across his bare torso and arms. She felt a pang of fear stab through her heart and gritted her teeth. These people had hurt him… them... her…

"Bastards…" even Doyle blinked at the tone in the young actress' voice. Her fists were clenched tightly, her eyes narrowed into furious slits, her voice a low, menacing hiss. With the torchlight flickering around her, her eyes seemed to glitter eerily.

Doyle gulped.

_Eep, Cordy's pissed! Somebody get me out of here!_

Schink. Clatter.

Doyle was so surprised he didn't have time to register that his wrists were no longer chained, before he pitched forwards. He was about to make a familiar and unpleasant acquaintance with the ground when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, stopping his descent. Zariel spun around, eyes wide.

"You!"

Angel took a moment to flash the warlock a demonic smirk.

"Me."

Doyle peered blearily up at the vampire.

"I'm dreaming aren't I?"

"Want me to wake you up?"

"HELL no."

Angel smiled warmly down at his friend, sitting him down carefully so his back was resting against the stake he had been chained to.

"'Scuse me for a sec, I have a few things to take care of."

Doyle waved him off.

"Sure, sure, take your time. Make a mess. Oh, er, Angel?"

Doyle shot a pointed look past the vampire who whirled around in time to duck a humming disc of black magic. Zariel stood shaking with rage.

"Kill him! Kill the vampire!"

Drip. Drip.

Zariel blinked.

"What…"

Angel feigned innocence. "Oh, are you looking for your friends? I think I kinda accidentally disembowelled all of them while you were talking to Cordy. Butterfingers."

Angel ducked and ran as Zariel leapt up at him with a speed that belied his age, pale eyes flashing in pure, unadulterated fury.

"You DARE to interfere! Disgusting creature of shadow! Spawn of evil! Die!"

Angel backflipped nonchalantly over the stone plinth which still held the knife, standing on its tip.

"Well, I'm kinda dead already so –"

"Go to hell!"

"But I DID that already –"

Angel twisted hurriedly to avoid another crackling energy ball. His eyes narrowed fractionally. He had to get this guy as far away from his friends as possible.

Doyle watched Zariel and Angel exchanging blows with a dazed look on his face. His brain had shut down and was firmly telling him that this could not in any way be happening and he should stay well out of it.

"Doyle! Oh GOD!"

"Mmm?" Doyle squinted upwards to see a hazy brown haired blob hovering anxiously over him. The blob looked vaguely familiar.

"Cordy…?"

"Oh God Doyle, I don't think you're stupid or annoying or any of that stuff I said to you!"

The seer suddenly found his arms full of sobbing young actress which should actually have been fairly painful but his nerves seemed to have long since ceased trying to make contact with his brain and were considering this their metaphorical coffee break. A positive affect of this particular little condition was that Doyle was able to hug Cordy back. The flip side however was that he was not actually entirely conscious of just what the hell was going on. Ah well, you can't win 'em all.

Crouching to avoid an energy blast which shattered the wall behind him, Angel launched himself at the warlock, catching him off guard and landing a solid punch to the old man's ribs. While Zariel may have been a powerful adversary in a duel of warlocks he was no match for the vampire's superior speed and strength. He landed in a graceless heap at the base of the stone plinth and lay there, breathing harshly, glaring viciously at the dark haired vampire who matched the gaze with a steely eye.

"You should have known that your "great" plan would go up in smoke as soon as you pulled my friends into this." Zariel spat blood to one side, now smirking.

"Do you really think that this ritual will stop if you smack me around a bit? Foolish monster."

Angel's eyes narrowed. "Have it your way then." The vampire lunged at the old warlock, not just to injure this time. Zariel lashed out and Angel suddenly found himself caught in the same freezing spell that Prarl had used on him at Sacarven's hideout. He snarled, trying to break free but he was barely able to blink, let alone move a limb. Zariel snickered, picking himself up off the dusty floor.

"You can growl and bite all you want demon, you're not getting out of that. Now," the warlock turned back to where Doyle lay half conscious in Cordelia's arms, "let's get on with the main event shall we?" Cordy's eyes widened and she hastily leapt up, putting herself between the warlock and the helpless seer.

"Like I'm going to let you touch him!" she snapped although her knees were shaking with fear and fatigue, "Get lost!" The warlock gave her a pitying look before making a sweeping motion in midair. Cordy was thrown aside like a rag doll, landing hard on the stone floor where she lay in a tangled heap, unmoving."

"Cordy!" Angel swore, baring his fangs at the warlock, "Bastard!"

Zariel laughed smugly, "Children should show more respect to their elders and betters. Watch your tongue demon." The white haired man closed his eyes and being to chant again, black magic creating a swirling aura around him, the dark presence seeping back into the air. From where he lay, Doyle jerked, curling in on himself as the symbols on his body began to glow a vivid, sickly green. Angel growled, switching to his vampire façade, struggling with all his strength against the invisible force that held him. No use, the binds didn't shift an inch.

He couldn't do this, he couldn't just sit here and watch one of his best friends die. He closed his eyes and focused on the demon inside him, Angelus, the soulless version of himself. He felt that strength inside him and tugged at it, pushing it to the surface, willing every bit of demonic, magical and physical energy inside him to fight against the alien force holding him. He could feel the bonds creaking, giving away under his strength. He pushed harder, muscles trembling. Just a little more… he remembered Oz's unconscious figure, Cordy's tearstained face, Doyle's bloodied form slumped at the foot of that stone…With a hoarse cry he tore free, landing on his hands and knees, breathing hard.

Zariel sensed to the change and whirled around. "Wha – "

Angel took great pleasure in ramming his fist into the old man's face. "That was for wrecking my apartment," a knee to the ribs, "that was for leading us on this damn wild goose chase," an uppercut to the chin, "that was for hurting my friends," a roundhouse kick straight to the nose, "and that… well I guess that was just for pissing me off."

Zariel collapsed heavily, coughing and clutching his ribs. Angel massaged his knuckles, advancing on the beaten warlock.

"Reverse the spell."

"No."

"Trust me, you _really _don't want to argue with me right now. I might just have to kill you."

"Go to hell."

"I already told you I – "

Angel's exasperated comment was cut off by a scream of pain from the dias. He whirled around to see Doyle shaking and writhing, the dark mist gathering and intensifying around him. Angel gritted his teeth and grabbed the warlock by the front of his robes, hoisting him into the air.

"What the hell's happening to him? What did you do!"

Zariel smiled unpleasantly at him, the gaunt features twisting mockingly, "that is the energy called up from the deepest depths of hell. Well… some of it anyway." Angel shivered. He could feel the gathering black presence electrifying the air, making his hair stand on end and his eyes tingle. Zariel coughed harshly and continued, "that power will force its way inside his mind and find the link that the Powers used to send his visions. It'll use that as a channel to get to the Powers and then it will destroy them!" He was grinning manically, eyes shining. Angel shook him violently.

"Reverse it! You'll kill us all! That sort of power can't be contained in this place! It'll overflow!"

"Yes, so it will," Zariel murmured as though in a dream, "and we will all perish together… only hell will remain." Angel snarled and punched the warlock again, dropping him and leaping up.

"Doyle!"

The seer was shuddering horribly, crying out whenever the dark mist brushed at his body, searching for an opening. If he fell unconscious…

"There's no way you can stop the process now!" Zariel yelled at him, "The game's up. You lose."

"Oh dear, it seems everyone's forgotten about me again."

Both Zariel and Angel's heads snapped around, staring at the newcomer. Kaeden regarded the scene with dark eyes narrowed and burning with malice. Zariel hissed in anger.

"You! Traitor! How dare you come here!"

Kaeden looked over at the old man, quirking an eyebrow as though he had only just noticed him.

"Eh? You're still alive old man? Guess I'll have to do something about that."

The black-haired warlock reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled ball of something. He threw it to Angel who snatched it deftly from the air.

"You might need that. The counter spell that is."

Zariel's eyes widened and he made a choking noise.

"You… how did you get that! Where!"

Kaeden smirked at him. "You don't need to worry about that because you are, if I may put it bluntly, about to get your head blown off."

With that, the two warlocks summoned their power again. Angel struggled to think straight due to the sheer concentration of black magic in the room. A pained gasp from Doyle drew Angel back to reality and the vampire hurriedly dashed out of the way of the impending duel. He moved over to where Cordy still lay senseless and smoothed out the paper. He blinked. The paper was covered in what looked like random splotches of green ink, dotted haphazardly over the surface of the yellowy fibres.

"You have to activate it," Kaeden shouted, "You have to use that black knife to cut yourself and smear some blood across the paper. Then you should be able to understand it."

Angel looked around to see the black knife standing precariously on the pedestal. In one leap he reached the thing and tried to wrench it off the plinth but it held fast. On the dias, Doyle writhed in pain, another cry torn from his throat. Angel looked up desperately. The dark presence around Doyle seemed to be attacking him more and more frequently, brushing against the seer's skin as though desperately seeking an entrance.

"Just cut your hand against it! Hurry! That knife's magical properties should give your blood enough power! Quickly! Before that force becomes any stronger!"

Angel reached up without a second thought, slashing his hand open with the knife. Immediately a horrible numb sensation began to tingle in his hand, his fingers falling as limp and weak as jelly. Grimacing, he put the feeling out of his mind, grabbing his wrist with the other hand and guiding his dripping fingers down to brush a streak of dark crimson against the paper. A vampire's blood was always a very dark shade of red, because it had no oxygen in it. Just as their hearts were dark… because they had no soul…

The paper began to glow, filling the entire chamber with a lurid green light. Angel winced, his entire arm prickling uncomfortably. A simple cut like this shouldn't have bothered him so much… that, he supposed, was this strange knife's power. In any case the black mist that had seemed to be solidifying was now fading. He sat back on his heels with a sigh of relief. They had made it in time.

There are several different sounds that one may expect to hear from one's enemies after thwarting their plan that they have supposedly being constructing meticulously for practically all their lives. Enraged screaming, shouts of denial, hopeless wailing, they would have made Angel feel relatively safe. They were signs that things were going to plan. They were familiar. They would not lead to any more trouble. Complete and utter silence was not one of them.

Angel turned, very slowly to look behind him. Kaeden and Zariel stood, side by side, watching him. Kaeden smiled at him.

"Well done Angel. You did it."

Behind him, Doyle screamed.

* * *

You thought I couldn't screw the story line up any more? You were wrong my friends! R&R! I will update, probably soon. No promises though because I don't like breaking promises. 


	12. Oops

Hey guys, ya miss me? No? Nah, didn't think so. Well here we are with the next and either second-to-last or third-to-last chapter of this fic. I can't believe I've actually got to the end of the wretched thing… well, I did my best. If you want more Doyle stories by the way I would recommend **robinyj**'s story, **To Catch a Thief **if you haven't already read it. It was actually what inspired me to start writing this in the first place although it's much better than mine. Now normally I would answer reviews at this point but apparently we're not allowed to (EAE: IF YOU GET THE PETITION THAT'S GOING AROUND THEN SIGN IT) and I'm not even sure if I'm allowed to write this much (EAE: If they delete this, let us just say I will be EXTREMELY annoyed). So I'll just write a general I LOVE YOU ALL THANK YOU SO MUCH. Seriously I'm drowning in compliments I don't deserve. I just hope you enjoyed reading this and sorry about the whole review thing. It's just that I've already been "cautioned" once so if they catch me doing something they don't like again it's bye bye Shikani (EAE: hisssss). The best thanks I can give you is… well… the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Angel may not have received the award for "Intuition of the Century" but even he knew something was seriously screwed up about this (aside from the obvious). For one thing, the two warlocks who had been up until about five seconds previous attempting to smash each other into tiny little pieces, were standing side by side looking perfectly relaxed. For another, the black mist that had gathered around Doyle was definitely NOT disappearing. Oh it was dispersing and looking decidedly less solid than before but Angel was really starting to wonder whether that was a good thing after all. When he tried to sweep it away from his friend's twitching form, his hand passed through it as though it were not there. Doyle was writing in pain, clutching his head, no longer screaming but moaning softly, breath rattled through his clenched teeth.

"Doyle! Hey Doyle! Damn it!"

He glared at the two warlocks.

"You bastard, you betrayed us!"

Kaeden grinned cheerfully.

"Guilty."

Angel snarled, "What did you do!"

Zariel smiled pleasantly at the livid vampire, crouching over his friend.

"Really, I couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. It amazed me more than once at just how dense people can be. Did you not stop to think, that if Kaeden could so easily betray me for his own benefit, he could do just the same to you?"

Kaeden stepped forward and bowed, "I would like to thank you for making my job so much easier Angel. You see, our little plan would have fallen through if it hadn't been for your help. Confused? Hm… they say a magician should never reveal his secrets but, well, for such a wonderful audience, I think I'll make an exception. You see, there's a little trick to this ritual. Ordinarily, summoning this kind of power would require at least one hundred warlocks of incredibly strength, but thanks to _this _little beauty, that was not necessary."

The warlock pointed a slender finger to the small plinth where that weird knife still stood, his blood gleaming across one razor sharp edge.

"Okay, "Ages Old Evil for Dummies", basically the blade on that knife is a condensed or I supposed you could call it "dead" version of that stuff," he gestured to the sinister mist that clung like sinuous cobwebs to Doyle's increasingly pale skin. "So we were able to use it for a medium to summon what is basically the essence of the devil, with the blade acting as a channel from hell to earth. Now that's all well and good, but we need another channel to get it from earth to "heaven" or happy harpy land or wherever those bastards who think they have the right to decide our fates live."

That irritating smile was back. Angel's feeling of dread slowly increased, heightened by how weak Doyle's cries were becoming with every passing second.

"Ironically enough," Kaeden continued thoughtfully, "we couldn't actually have done it without said bastards. Who'd have thought that the one who they used to send us to our downfall, we would use to send them to theirs." He gave a sort, sharp laugh, "Those arrogant bastards forged a mental link between themselves and the seers, thinking that we wouldn't be able to exploit it."

"If…" three pairs of eyes flicked to wear Cordy was sitting up shakily, clutching her shoulder, her eyes hard, "If that's all true… then how come you dragged us this far out? Why not just take Doyle and be done with it?"

Kaeden raised an eyebrow, "She asked an intelligent question. I'm not used to that."

Zariel laughed, "Interesting you should ask that my dear. After we brought Doyle back to our little cubby hole here, we had to have some way to test our theory. Well, the quickest way was to see if the energy would actually integrate with the seer's body. Meaning that we had to stick Brankata into his chest. Because the energy was dead it had no lasting effects and his body did repel it eventually. However, the dead essence is nothing compared to the sheer potency of the living one, hence our problem."

Angel's eyes narrowed. "Problem?"

In the same way that vampires cannot enter a house without permission, this energy bound by a sacred blood ritual, cannot enter a body without permission. In other words, unless the subject willingly gave his blood to Brankata, the energy would be unable to enter and would solidify into a physical form and die. Thanks to an ancient warlock who tried to create a devil on earth by manifesting this energy into a dead body, we knew that beforehand." Zariel smiled conceitedly, "It was a simple matter of figuring out a new method based on the blood contract that forbade entry."

The silver haired old man here patted his companion on the shoulder, "I must admit, this had me stumped as I could never understand you strange, so-called "honourable" people. Kaeden however has incredible insight into your strange little minds, even if he detests them."

Kaeden's eyes darkened, "That was more thanks to my sister actually. With her childish logic she helped me figure out what very few adults could understand. By the way," he turned one steely eye on Zariel, "I thought we had agreed that she would not be killed."

"Prarl was always a disobedient fool."

"So you won't be missing him then?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not anymore."

Angel's eyes narrowed. Apparently the scream they had heard had been real. Kaeden turned back to him, almost like a school master introducing a class to a new topic.

"As with vampires (your kind are so useful for examples) the way to pass on the demon was an exchange of blood, you suck their blood, they suck your blood, everybody's happy, so the demon passes on. That's why a vampire's victim simply dies if the vampire does not offer its blood. However, people are linked in other ways than blood. For example… trust."

Kaeden's face twisted in an odd sneer at the word, "Two people who would trust each other with their lives form an indestructible link between each other that exceeds the identifying ability of the blood contract. In other words, if two people were to trust each other absolutely, the magic wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the pair."

Angel's fist slowly clenched as the meaning of the treacherous warlock's words sank into his brain like a malignant little bug inching into his consciousness and twittering in gleeful triumph.

"Then… you needed…"

Kaeden's waspish smile said it all.

"We needed some ignorant moron to willingly give his blood to Brankata at the time of the spell."

Angel's eyes were hidden in shadow.

"So… that paper was just nothing?"

Zariel shook his head.

"Not entirely, that was a series of seals I drew up. When you added your blood, you made the spell irreversible. That paper now acts as a barrier between the energy and the place from which it came. It can't go back now."

"Er, hey, this is just a stab in the dark but, does that mean that if I were to rip this in half, that whole irreversible thing you guys were on about would be cancelled?"

Angel froze, he didn't want to turn around in case this was just another spell, an illusion sent to mock him and his hope only to disappear in a flash and leave him weak and despairing. Zariel's eyes widened.

"Who the hell are you! How did you get in here!"

Bloodstained, spikey haired, crossbow in one hand and a scruffy piece of paper in the other. Oz shrugged, picking his way carefully over the debris.

"Walked."

Angel, startled, found himself grinning. Zariel snarled and conjured a disc of energy.

"Drop it," he commanded, eyes darkening to deepest black, "now."

Oz blinked slowly, "You do know that if you hit me with that you're just going to get this too?" he waved the scrap of paper. Zariel froze, his face contorted in fury. Oz raised an eyebrow.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes."

Crushing the paper into a tight ball, he threw it into the air. Raising the crossbow in one fluid motion, he fired a single bolt.

Kaeden's eyes widened and he barely managed to conjure a shield in time. The bolt, with his master's spell impaled on its sharp metal point, burst into flames, disintegrating right inches from his eyes. Oz lowered the crossbow.

"Not that I know much about this sorta stuff, but smashing a guy's head in doesn't make a good first impression."

Kaeden regarded the young wolf with an inscrutable gaze.

"I'll remember that."

"Angel!"

The vampire was rudely brought back to reality from the fuzzy pink land the recent events had thrown him to for some bizarre reason, to snap his dazed gaze from the warlocks to Cordelia. She was leaning over Doyle's still form. Doyle's far too still for his liking form. Lingering strands of black mist were curling gently around his pale body. Angel jumped over to her, leaning down to press his fingers against the half-demon's neck. He could feel a faint, sluggish beating and sighed with relief. Now all they had to do was reverse the spell. Now all they needed was Giles…

Zariel laughed mockingly at the small group, his confident smile returning.

"What will you do now? What can you do? He's going to die whatev – "

He was cut off when Angel lunged at him with inhuman speed, throwing him backwards into the wall. His teeth were bared, his eyes flashing gold and the wall cracked as he pressed his forearm against the man's neck.

"Reverse it."

Zariel gritted his teeth in a deranged grin and said nothing. Angel growled in frustration.

"Angel!"

"What?" Angel looked around just in time to see Oz duck an energy bolt sent his way by Kaeden who seemed to have missed throwing things at him.

"You need to fight it off!"

Angel frowned, bewildered, "What are you talking about?" With his guard down, he had temporarily forgotten about Zariel until said warlock threw him away with a burst of dark magic.

"He said the blood contract thought you were Doyle right?" Oz was trying desperately to stop Kaeden from backing him into a corner and failing miserably. Angel effortlessly avoided Zariel's attack, bringing his hand down sharply on the man's shoulder and breaking his collar bone.

"What about it?"

Oz gritted his teeth as an energy bolt came within inches of taking his nose off.

"If both of you can fight it off – "

He was cut off as the ground in front of him exploded. Angel turned just in time to see a large shimmering mass of dark magic flying his way. It caught him in the head and sent him flying backwards into the wall.

Oz gritted his teeth, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Really, getting knocked out time and time again was going to put a big dent in his IQ. In fact it probably already had he thought detachedly as he got shakily back to his feet. He had completely lost track of what he had been saying and he knew it was important. This had to be some long built in conspiracy between their enemies from the start: knock out the werewolf so he can't think when it could actually make a difference. He shrugged mentally. Oh well.

The werewolf scrambled free of the chipped rock only to feel a cold presence behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Very slowly, he turned around. Kaeden smiled ruefully at him.

"Nothing personal kid."

Angel hissed as one of Zariel's spells grazed his arm, putting yet another rip in his coat, not to mention staining it with blood. Lunging, he managed to land a smart right hook to the side of the silver haired warlock's head, that would have sent him flying, which was probably the more attractive option in the long run as he was halted only by Angel's heavy booted foot being wedged strategically under his ribcage, lifting him into the air where he was met with a roundhouse kick straight to the nose. He fell to the ground, ruby red running down over his chin, dribbling down his neck. Angel towered over him, trying to fight off the heavy scent of blood.

"Reverse it."

Zariel glared up at him and croaked some strange words, waving a hand at the vampire. A strange tingling sensation began in his feet and then spread with alarming speed up his legs, leaving a horrible, chilling numbness in its wake. His knees buckled and he collapsed into a motionless heap on the floor, realising that he had absolutely no control over his body.

Zariel clambered laboriously to his feet, wiping blood from his nose. Angel could only watch as the old man conjured a long, glittering sword into existence.

"Tell me Angel, do you object to losing your head?"

_Yes, I like it where it is._

Angel found that not only was he unable to move but he was also devoid of speech. Somewhere, some part of him (he suspected it was related to Angelus in some way) grumbled that it was unfair to ask a question related to loss of limbs if you didn't at least give your victim the ability to beg for mercy. Not that Angel would have but it was the _principle _of the thing.

The sword swung down.

* * *

You can tell I'm back. It's the screaming. Sorry I haven't updated in a while, the next one will either be within the week or not for another two weeks so you can stew for a while. Aren't I so considerate? Oh and if the bit about the ritual when Kaeden was explaining it all was confusing just let me know. I'll try to get Oz to explain it, he's much better at that sort of thing. I love you all (in a _philos _way). REVIEW! 


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